HE  SPELL 


WILLIAM  DANA  ORCUTT 


OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


THERE      MAY      BE      SOME      DIFFERENCE      IN 
ALL      HUSBANDS      ARE      ALIKE- 


MEN,      BUT 


THE    SPELL 


BY 
WILLIAM    DANA    ORCUTT 

AUTHOK  OF 
1  THE  FLOWER  OF  DESTINY  "  "  ROBERT  CAVELIER  ' 

"THE  PRINCESS  KALLISTO"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 
GERTRUDE  DEMAIN  HAMMOND,  R.I. 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW   YORK  AND   LONDON 
MCM1X 


Copyright,  1909,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  January,  1909. 


TO 
MY    FRIEND 

GUIDO  BIAGI   OF   FLORENCE 

MODERN    HUMANIST 

NEITHER    MASTER    OF   FATE    NOR    VICTIM   OF    FATE 

BUT      CO -PARTNER      WITH      NATURE      IN      SOLVING 

HIS      OWN      PERSONAL      PROBLEM,      THIS      BOOK      IS 

AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED 


2131854 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  THERE    MAY    BE    SOME    DIFFERENCE    IN    MEN, 
BUT      ALL      HUSBANDS      ARE      ALIKE  " 
(See  page  14) Frontispiece 

SLOWLY  THE  SPELL  BEGAN  TO  WORK  UPON 
INEZ*  BRAIN.  SHE  WAS  NO  LONGER  IN 

THE     PRESENT  SHE    WAS     A     WOMAN     OF 

ITALY  OF   FOUR   CENTURIES  BACK        .        .        .  Facing  p.     54 

"  BECAUSE  '  BEAUTIFUL  PAINTINGS  '  DO  NOT 
POSSESS  HUSBANDS,"  REPLIED  THE  CON- 
TESSA,  SAGELY  .  ,A "  192 

SO  JACK  HAD  SENT  HIM  TO  PLEAD  HIS  CAUSE, 
HELEN  TOLD  HERSELF?  AND  IN  HER 
HEART  SHE  RESENTED  THE  INTERFER 
ENCE  "  334 


BOOK    I 
MASTER    OF    FATE 


THE    SPELL 


"  "TV  "TOW,  Jack,  here  is  a  chance  to  put  your  knowl- 
^     edge  of  the  classics  to  some  practical  use." 

Helen  Armstrong  paused  for  a  moment  be 
fore  a  Latin  inscription  cut  in  the  upper  stones  of  the 
boundary  wall,  and  leaned  gratefully  upon  her  com 
panion's  arm  after  the  steep  ascent.  "  What  does  it 
mean  ?" 

Her  husband  smiled.  "  That  is  an  easy  test.  The 
ancient  legend  conveys  the  cheering  intelligence  that 
'  from  this  spot  Florence  and  Fiesole,  mother  and  daugh 
ter,  are  equi-distant.' ' 

The  girl  released  her  hold  upon  the  man's  arm  and, 
pushing  back  a  few  stray  locks  which  the  wind  had 
loosened,  turned  to  regard  the  panorama  behind  her. 
It  was  a  charmingly  picturesque  and  characteristic 
Italian  roadway  which  they  had  chosen  for  their  day's 
excursion.  On  either  side  stood  plastered  stone  walls, 
which  bore  curious  marks  and  circles,  made — who  shall 
say  when  or  by  whom? — remaining  there  as  an  atavistic 
suggestion  of  Etruscan  symbolism.  The  whiteness  of 
the  walls  was  relieved  by  tall  cypresses  and  ilexes  which 

[31 


THE    SPELL 


rose  high  above  them,  while  below  the  branches,  and  re 
clining  upon  the  stone  top,  a  profusion  of  wild  roses 
shed  their  petals  and  their  fragrance  for  the  benefit  of 
the  passers  -  by.  In  the  distance,  through  the  trees, 
showed  the  shimmering  green  of  olive-groves  and  vine 
yards — covering  the  hillsides,  yet  yielding  occasionally 
to  a  gay-blossoming  garden ;  and,  as  if  to  complete  by 
contrast,  the  streaked  peaks  of  Carrara  gave  a  faint  sug 
gestion  of  their  marble  richness.  In  front,  Fiesole  rose 
sheer  and  picturesque,  while  villas,  scattered  here  and 
there,  some  large  and  stately,  some  small,  some  anti 
quated  and  others  modernized,  gave  evidence  that  the 
ancient  Via  della  Piazzola  still  expressed  its  own  indi 
viduality  as  in  the  days  when  the  bishops  of  old  trod  its 
paths  in  visiting  their  see  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  and 
Boccaccio  and  Sacchctti,  with  their  kindred  spirits,  made 
its  echoes  ring  with  merry  revelling.  But,  inevitably 
turning  again,  the  modern  pilgrims  saw  far  below  them, 
and  most  impressive  of  all,  the  languorous  City  of 
Flowers,  peacefully  dreaming  on  either  side  of  the  sil 
ver  Arno. 

All  this  was  a  familiar  sight  to  John  Armstrong,  whose 
five  years'  residence  in  Florence,  just  before  entering 
Harvard,  made  him  feel  entirely  at  home  in  its  outskirts. 
He  preferred,  therefore,  to  fix  his  eyes  upon  the  face 
of  the  girl  beside  him.  She  was  tall  and  fair,  with  figure 
well  proportioned,  yet  the  characteristic  which  left  the 
deepest  impress  was  her  peculiar  sweetness  of  expression. 
Among  her  Vincent  Club  friends  she  was  universally  con 
sidered  beautiful,  and  a  girl's  verdict  of  another  girl's 
beauty  is  rarely  exaggerated.  Her  deep,  merry,  gray 
eyes  showed  whence  came  the  vivacity  which  ever  made 
her  the  centre  of  an  animated  group,  while  the  sym- 

[41 


THE     SPELL 


pathy  and  understanding  which  shone  from  them  ex 
plained  her  popularity. 

The  announcement  of  her  engagement  to  Jack  Arm 
strong  was  the  greatest  surprise  of  a  sensational  Boston 
season,  not  because  of  any  unfitness  in  the  match, — for 
the  Armstrong  lineage  was  quite  as  distinguished  as  the 
Cartwrights', — but  because  Helen  had  so  persistently 
discouraged  all  admiration  beyond  the  point  of  friend 
ship  and  comradeship,  that  those  who  should  have  known 
pronounced  her  immune. 

But  that  was  because  her  friends  had  read  her  char 
acter  even  less  correctly  than  they  had  Armstrong's. 
They  would  have  told  you  that  she  was  distinctly  a  girl 
of  the  twentieth  century;  he  discovered  that  while  tem 
pered  by  its  progressiveness,  she  had  not  been  marred  by 
its  extremes.  They  would  have  said  that  her  character 
had  not  yet  found  opportunity  for  expression,  since  her 
every  wish  had  always  been  gratified ;  he  would  have  ex 
plained  that  the  fact  that  she  had  learned  to  wish  wise 
ly  was  in  itself  sufficient  expression  of  the  character  which 
lay  beneath. 

He  watched  her  in  the  midst  of  the  social  life  to  which 
they  both  belonged,  entering  naturally,  as  he  did,  into 
its  conventionalities  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  he  re 
joiced  to  find  in  her,  beyond  the  enjoyment  of  those 
every-day  pleasures  which  end  where  they  begin,  a  re 
sponse  to  the  deeper  thoughts  which  controlled  his  own 
best  expression.  He  could  see  that  these  new  subjects 
frightened  her  a  little  by  their  immensity,  as  he  tried  to 
explain  them ;  he  sympathized  with  her  momentary  de 
spair  when  she  found  herself  beyond  her  depth;  but  he 
was  convinced  that  the  understanding  and  the  interest 
were  both  there,  as  in  an  undeveloped  negative. 

[5  1 


THE     SPELL 


This  same  power  of  analysis  which  enabled  him  to 
discover  what  all  could  not  surmise  had  separated  Arm 
strong,  in  Helen's  mind,  from  other  men,  nearer  her  own 
age,  whom  she  had  known.  She  could  hardly  have  put 
in  words  what  the  difference  was,  but  she  felt  that  it 
existed,  and  this  paved  the  way  for  his  ultimate  success. 
His  personal  attributes,  inevitably  tempered  by  the  early 
Italian  influence,  marked  him  as  one  considerably  above 
the  commonplace.  At  college  he  had  won  the  respect  of 
his  professors  by  his  strength  of  mind  and  tenacity  of  ap 
plication,  and  the  affection  of  his  fellow-students  by  his 
skill  in  athletics  and  his  general  good-fellowship.  Now, 
eight  years  out  of  college,  he  had  already  made  his  place 
at  the  Boston  bar,  and  was  regarded  as  a  successful  man 
in  his  profession.  But  beyond  all  this,  unknown  even  to 
himself,  Armstrong  was  an  extremist.  The  seed  had 
been  sown  during  that  residence  in  Florence  years  before, 
when  unconsciously  he  had  assimilated  the  enthusiasm 
of  an  erudite  librarian  for  the  learning  and  achievements 
of  the  master  spirits  of  the  past.  Latin  and  Greek  at 
college  had  thus  meant  much  more  to  him  than  dead 
languages ;  in  them  he  found  living  personalities 
which  inspired  in  him  the  liveliest  ambition  for  em 
ulation. 

These  were  some  of  the  subjects  to  which  he  intro 
duced  Helen.  Little  by  little  he  told  her  of  the  fascina 
tion  they  possessed  for  him,  of  the  treasures  hidden  be 
neath  their  austere  exterior.  But  the  girl  was  perhaps 
more  interested  by  the  charm  of  his  presentation  than  by 
the  possibilities  she  saw  in  the  subjects  themselves.  She 
felt  that  she  could  understand  him,  and  admitted  her 
respect  for  the  objects  of  his  enthusiasm,  but  she  was 
convinced  that  these  were  beyond  her  comprehension, 

[6]  * 


THE     SPELL 


and  frankly  rebelled  at  the  necessity  of  going  back  into 
dead  centuries  for  them. 

"  I  love  the  present,  and  all  that  it  contains,"  she 
replied  to  him  one  day  when  something  suggested  the 
subject  during  one  of  the  many  walks  they  took  to 
gether  ;  "  I  love  the  sky,  the  air,  the  sunshine,  and  the 
flowers.  Why  should  I  go  back  to  the  past,  made  up  of 
memories  only,  when  I  may  enjoy  all  this  beautiful  world 
around  me?  And  you,  Jack — I  should  not  have  you  if 
I  had  lived  in  the  past !" 

As  her  friends  had  said,  she  possessed  strong  ideas 
about  marriage,  and  expressed  them  without  reserve. 
Until  Armstrong's  irresistible  wooing,  she  had  decided, 
as  a  result  both  of  observation  and  of  conclusion,  that 
admiration  and  attention  from  many  were  far  to  be  pre 
ferred  to  the  devotion  of  any  single  one,  and  that  matri 
mony  was  neither  essential  nor  desirable  except  under 
ideal  conditions. 

"  There  are  so  many  things  which  seem  more  inter 
esting  to  me  than  a  husband,"  Helen  asserted.  "  I'm 
afraid  that  I  agree  too  much  with  that  wise  old  cynic 
who  said  that  '  love  is  the  wine  of  life,  and  marriage 
the  dram  -  drinking.'  I  insist  on  remaining  a  teeto 
taler." 

Thus  Armstrong  felt  himself  entitled  to  enjoy  a  cer 
tain  degree  of  pride  and  satisfaction  in  that  he  had  suc 
ceeded  in  convincing  her  at  last  that  the  ideal  conditions 
she  demanded  had  been  met. 

Even  on  board  the  steamer,  at  the  start  of  their  wed 
ding  journey,  as  the  familiar  sky-line  of  New  York  be 
came  less  and  less  distinct,  Armstrong  read  in  his  wife's 
eyes,  still  gazing  back  at  the  vanishing  city,  the  thoughts 
which  inevitably  forced  themselves  upon  her — a  last 

[7] 


THE    SPELL 


remnant  of  her  former  doubt.  When  she  turned  and 
saw  him  looking  at  her,  she  smiled  guiltily. 

"  We  are  leaving  the  old  life  behind  us,"  she  said. 
"  With  all  the  philosophy  you  have  tried  to  teach  me, 
I  have  not  fully  realized  until  now  what  a  change  it 
means." 

"  Do  you  regret  it?"  he  asked  her,  half  rebellious  that 
even  a  passing  shadow  should  mar  the  completeness  of 
their  happiness. 

Helen  quickly  became  herself  again,  and  threw  back 
her  head  with  a  merry  laugh  at  the  seriousness  of  his 
interrogation.  "  Regret  it !  How  f oolish  even  to  ask 
such  a  question!  But  you  cannot  wonder  that  the  im 
portance  of  the  event  should  force  itself  upon  me,  now 
that  we  are  actually  married,  even  if  it  never  did  before. 
It  makes  so  much  more  of  a  change  in  a  woman's  life 
than  in  a  man's." 

Helen  sighed,  and  then  looked  mischievously  into  his 
face.  "  With  you  superior  beings,"  she  continued,  "  it 
simply  signifies  a  new  latch-key,  a  new  head  to  your 
household,  and  the  added  companionship  of  a  woman 
whom  you  have  selected  as  absolutely  essential  to  your 
happiness.  You  keep  your  old  friends,  give  up  for  a 
time  a  few  of  your  bad  habits,  and  transfer  a  part  of 
your  affections  from  your  clubs  to  your  home.  To  the 
woman,  it  means  a  complete  readjustment.  New  duties 
and  responsibilities  come  to  her  all  at  once.  From  her 
earliest  memory  she  has  been  taught  to  depend  upon  the 
counsel  and  guidance  of  her  parents,  but  suddenly  she 
finds  herself  freed  from  this  long-accustomed  habit,  with 
a  man  standing  beside  her,  only  a  few  years  her  senior, 
who  is  convinced  that  he  can  serve  in  this  capacitv  far 
better  than  any  one  else  ever  did.  Even  with  a  husband 

[81 


THE    SPELL 


as  superior  as  yourself,  Mr.  John  Armstrong,  is  it  not 
natural  that  one  should  recognize  the  passing  of  the  old 
life,  while  welcoming  the  coming  of  the  new?" 

After  landing,  they-  had  lingered  for  a  fortnight  in 
Paris,  but,  beneath  the  keen  enjoyment  of  the  attractions 
there,  Armstrong  had  felt  an  impatience,  unacknowl 
edged  even  to  himself,  to  reach  Florence,  which  contained 
for  him  so  much  of  interest,  and  whither  his  memory 
— let  him  give  it  sway — ever  recalled  him.  He  felt  that 
his  de'i  familiares  were  patiently  waiting  for  him  there, 
indulgent  in  spite  of  his  long  absence,  yet  insistent  that 
their  rights  again  be  recognized.  Having  dropped  his 
engrossing  law-practice,  he  yearned  to  take  advantage 
of  this  opportunity,  now  near  at  hand,  to  devote  himself 
to  the  girl  he  had  won,  and  at  the  same  time  to  gratify 
this  long-cherished  wish  to  study  more  deeply  into  the 
work  of  those  early  humanists  who  had  foreshadowed  and 
brought  about  that  mighty  thought  revolution,  the  won 
derful  brcaking-away  from  the  deadly  pall  of  ignorance 
into  the  light  and  joyousness  and  richness  of  intellectual 
life  known  as  the  Renaissance.  Helen  would  no  longer 
fail  to  understand  them  when  she  saw  them  face  to  face. 
He  would  lead  her  gently,  even  as  Cerini  the  librarian 
had  led  him;  and  together  they  would  draw  from  the 
old  life  those  principles  which  made  it  what  it  was,  in 
corporating  them  into  their  new  existence,  which  would 
thus  be  the  richer  and  better  worth  the  living.  So  now 
that  he  had  actually  reached  his  goal,  it  was  natural  that 
his  contentment  at  finding  himself  in  Florence  with  his 
wife  was  intensified  by  the  joy  of  being  again  amid  the 
scenes  and  personages  which  his  imagination  had  taken 
out  from  the  indefiniteness  of  antiquity,  and  invested  with 
a  living  actuality. 

[9] 


THE    SPELL 


The  sharp  contrast  of  his  two  great  devotions  came 
to  John  Armstrong  as  he  stood  at  the  cross  -  roads  on 
the  edge  of  San  Domenico.  The  one  had  exerted  so 
powerful  an  influence  on  what  he  was  to-day — the  other 
must  influence  his  future  to  an  extent  even  greater.  The 
one,  in  spite  of  the  personality  with  which  he  had  clothed 
it,  was  as  musty  and  antiquated  as  the  ancient  tomes 
he  loved  to  study ;  the  other,  as  she  stood  there,  her 
cheeks  aglow  after  the  brisk  walk,  her  face  animated 
with  enthusiastic  delight,  seemed  the  personification  of 
present  reality.  What  a  force  the  two  must  make  when 
once  joined  together,  contributing,  each  to  the  other, 
those  qualities  which  would  else  be  lacking ! 

"  I  must  take  you  yet  a  little  higher,"  Armstrong 
urged  at  length ;  "  these  walls  still  cut  off  much  of  the 
glorious  view." 

In  a  few  moments  more  they  had  partly  ascended  the 
Via  della  Fiesolana,  which  at  this  hour  was  wholly  de 
serted.  With  a  sigh,  half  from  satisfaction  and  half 
from  momentary  fatigue,  Helen  turned  to  her  companion. 
She  caught  the  admiration  which  his  face  so  clearly  re 
flected,  but,  womanlike,  preferred  to  feign  ignorance  of 
its  origin.  Glancing  about  her,  she  discovered  a  rock, 
half  hidden  by  the  tall  grass  and  wild  poppies,  which 
offered  an  attractive  resting-place.  Seating  herself,  she 
plucked  several  of  the  brilliant  blossoms,  and  began  to 
weave  the  stems  together.  At  last  she  broke  the  silence. 

"  Why  are  you  so  quiet,  Jack  ?" 

"  For  three  reasons,"  he  replied,  promptly.  "  This 
walk  has  made  me  romantic,  poetic,  and  hungry." 

Helen  laughed  heartily.  "  I  am  glad  you  added  the 
third  reason,  for  by  that  I  know  that  you  are  mortal. 
This  wonderful  air  and  the  marvellous  view  affect  me 

[10] 


THE     SPELL 


exactly  as  a  fairy-story  used  to,  years  ago.  When  I 
turned  I  fully  expected  to  find  a  fairy  prince  beside 
me.  You  confess  that  you  are  romantic,  which  is  be 
coming  in  a  five-weeks'-old  husband,  but  why  poetic?" 

" '  Poetry  is  but  spoken  painting,'  "  quoted  Arm 
strong,  smiling ;  "  and  I  should  be  pleased  indeed  were 
I  able  to  put  on  canvas  the  picture  I  now  see  before  me." 

"  Since  you  cannot  do  that,  suppose  you  write  a  son 
net." 

Armstrong  met  her  arch  smile  firmly.  The  girlish 
abandon  under  the  influence  of  new  surroundings  awoke 
in  him  a  side  of  his  nature  which  he  had  not  previously 
realized  he  possessed.  Stooping,  he  gently  held  her  face 
between  his  hands  and  looked  deep  into  her  responsive 
eyes  before  replying: 

'  Say  from  what  rein  did  Love  procure  the  gold 
To  make  those  sunny  tresses?     From  what  thorn 
Stole  he  the  rose,  and  whence  the  dew  of  morn, 
Bidding'  them  breathe  and  live  in  Beauty's  mould? 
What  depth  of  ocean  gave  the  pearls  that  told 
Those  gentle  accents  sweet,  tho'  rarely  born? 
Whence  came  so  many  graces  to  adorn 
That  brow  more  fair  than  summer  skies  unfold? 
Oh!  say  what  angels  lead,  what  spheres  control 
The  song  divine  which  wastes  my  life  away? 
(Who  can  with  trifles  now  my  senses  move?) 
What  sun  gave  birth  unto  the  lofty  soul 
Of  those  enchanting  eyes,  whose  glances  stray 
To  burn  and  freeze  my  heart — the  sport  of  Love?'  ' 

Helen  made  no  reply  for  several  moments  after  Arm 
strong  ceased  speaking.  Then  she  held  out  her  hand  to 
him  and  looked  lip  into  his  face. 

[HI 


THE     SPELL 


"  I  never  knew  before  that  you  were  a  real  poet,"  she 
said,  quietly. 

"  I  wish  I  were  —  and  such  a  poet !  My  precious 
Petrarch,  for  whom  you  profess  so  little  fondness,  is 
responsible  for  that  most  splendid  tribute  ever  paid  to 
woman." 

Helen  was  incredulous. 

"  That  sanctimonious  old  gentleman  with  the  laurel 
leaves  on  his  head  and  the  very  self-confident  expression 
on  his  face?" 

Armstrong  nodded. 

"  Who  spent  all  his  life  making  love  to  another  man's 
wife  from  a  safe  distance?" 

"  Yes ;  this  is  one  of  his  love-letters." 

"  Then  if  I  accept  those  lines  you  just  repeated  with 
so  much  feeling,  I  must  be  Laura?" 

"  But  not  another  man's  wife." 

"  I  should  have  been  if  you  had  acted  like  that,  Jack. 
Let  me  see  how  you  look  with  a  laurel  wreath  made  of 
poppies." 

She  drew  his  head  down  and  tied  the  flowers  about  his 
forehead.  Then,  pushing  him  away  from  her,  she  clap 
ped  her  hands  with  delight. 

"There!  if  the  noble  Petrarch  had  looked  like  that, 
Madonna  Laura  could  surely  never  have  resisted 
him." 

"  Had  Madonna  Laura  resembled  Madonna  Helen, 
the  worthy  Petrarch  would  have  had  her  in  his  arms 
before  she  had  the  chance,"  laughed  Armstrong,  im 
proving  his  opportunity  as  he  spoke. 

"  Very  gallant,  Jack,  but  very  improper."  Helen 
pursed  her  lips  and  looked  up  at  him  mischievously. 
"  But  let  us  forget  your  musty  old  antiquities  and  talk 

[12] 


THE     SPELL 


of  the  present.     Do  you  realize  that  this  is  the  end  of 
our  honeymoon?" 

"  No,"  he  replied,  holding  her  more  closely  and  laugh 
ing  down  at  her;  "  it  has  only  just  begun." 

"  Of  course,"  assented  Helen,  disengaging  herself, 
"  but  to-morrow  we  are  to  exchange  the  very  romantic 
titles  of  '  bride '  and  '  bridegroom  '  for  the  much  more 
commonplace  '  host '  and  '  hostess.'  ' 

"  Oh !  I  am  relieved  that  you  are  not  going  to  divorce 
me  at  once."  Armstrong  was  amused  at  her  seriousness. 
"  But  it  was  your  idea  to  invite  them  to  join  us,  was  it 
not?" 

"  I  know  it  was — and  now  I  must  make  a  confession 
to  you.  I  thought  that  in  five  weeks  we  both  would  be 
glad  enough  to  have  some  little  break  in  our  love-mak 
ing.  But  I  did  not  realize  how  rapidly  five  weeks  could 
pass.  Still  " — Helen  sighed — "  what  is  the  use  of  hav 
ing  a  villa  in  Florence  unless  you  can  invite  your  friends 
to  see  it?" 

"  Then  you  have  not  become  tired  of  your  husband  as 
soon  as  you  thought  you  would?" 

"  Nor  you  of  your  wife?"  Helen  retorted,  quickly. 
"  Mamma  suggested  it  first.  She  said  that  so  long  a 
wedding  trip  as  we  had  planned  was  sure  to  end  with 
one  or  both  of  us  becoming  hopelessly  bored  unless 
we  introduced  other  characters  into  our  Garden  of 
Eden." 

"  Did  she  say  *  Garden  of  Eden  '  ?  That  family  par 
ty  included  a  serpent,  if  rumor  be  correct." 

The  girl  laughed. 

"  But  there  could  not  be  one  in  ours,  because  I  would 
never  give  you  the  chance  to  sav,  '  The  woman  did 
it.'  " 

[13] 


THE     SPELL 


"  Your  mother  forgets  that  we  are  exceptions." 

"  She  says  there  may  be  some  difference  in  men,  but 
that  all  husbands  are  alike." 

"  Trite  and  to  the  point,  as  always  with  mamma." 
Armstrong  paused  and  smiled.  "  Well,  I  think  even  she 
will  be  satisfied  with  the  success  of  her  suggestion.  How 
many  do  our  guests  number  at  present?" 

Helen  dropped  the  flower  she  was  idly  swinging  and 
began  to  count  upon  her  fingers. 

"  Let  me  see.  There  is  Inez  Thayer  —  I  am  glad 
that  she  could  visit  us,  so  that  at  last  you  can  know 
her.  It  is  strange  enough  that  you  should  not  have 
met  her  until  the  wedding.  You  cannot  help  liking  each 
other,  for  she  is  interested  in  all  those  serious  things  you 
love  so  well.  The  girls  used  to  make  sport  of  our  de 
votion  at  school  because  our  dispositions  are  so  unlike: 
she  is  thoughtful,  while  I  am  impulsive;  she  is  carried 
away  with  anything  which  is  deep  and  learned,  while  I, 
as  you  well  know,  have  nothing  more  important  in  life 
than  you  and  my  music." 

Helen  paused  for  a  moment  thoughtfully.  "  Some 
times  I  wish  I  could  really  interest  myself  in  those  an 
cient  deities  you  worship." 

"  You  could  if  you  only  knew  them  as  I  do,"  he  urged, 
quietly.  "  The  present  is  the  evolution  of  the  past,  but 
it  has  been  evolved  so  fast  that  many  of  the  old  -  time 
treasures  have  been  forgotten  in  the  mad  pace  of  every 
day  life." 

"  But  we  can't  remember  everything,"  Helen  replied ; 
"  there  are  not  hours  enough  in  the  day.  I  can't  even 
find  time  to  read  our  modern  writers  as  much  as  I  wish  I 
could,  and  I  think  one  ought  to  do  that  before  going 
back  to  the  ancients." 

[141 


THE     SPELL 


"  All  modern  literature  is  based  upon  what  has  gone 
before,"  insisted  Armstrong. 

"  Wait  a  moment."  Helen's  face  again  became 
thoughtful.  "  I  have  it !"  she  cried,  triumphantly. 
"  '  The  gardens  of  Sicily  are  empty  now,  but  the  bees 
still  fetch  honey  from  the  golden  jars  of  Theocritus.' 
That  is  what  you  mean,  is  it  not?  I  remember  that 
from  something  of  Lowell's  I  read  at  school." 

"  Splendid !"  he  laughed,  with  delight.  "  Who  dares 
to  say  that  you  are  not  in  sympathy  with  the  past?"  He 
bent  his  head  down  close  to  hers.  "  Would  you  not  pre 
fer  to  hold  those  '  golden  jars  '  in  your  very  hands,  sweet 
heart,  rather  than  merely  read  about  them  ?" 

"  But,  Jack,  '  the  gardens  of  Sicily  are  empty  now.' 
Think  how  lonesome  we  should  be."  Helen  threw  back 
her  head  and  drew  in  a  long  breath  of  the  exhilarating 
air. 

Armstrong  was  still  insistent.  "  I  wish  I  could  make 
you  see  it  as  I  do,"  he  said.  "  The  present  of  to-day  is 
bound  to  be  the  past  of  to-morrow.  What  I  want  to 
do  is  to  assimilate  all  that  the  past  can  give  me,  so  that 
I  may  do  my  part,  however  small,  toward  giving  it  out 
again,  made  stronger  and  more  effective  because  of  its 
modern  application,  thus  helping  this  present  to  become 
worthy  of  being  considered  by  those  who  come  after  us." 

Helen  looked  up  at  him  with  undisguised  admiration. 
"  Oh,  Jack,  that  sounds  so  wonderful,  and  I  wish  I  could 
enter  into  it  with  you,  but  I  simply  cannot  do  it.  Inez 
will  be  just  the  one.  At  school,  as  I  told  you,  she  went 
in  for  the  classics  and  all  that,  while  I  —  well,  I  was 
sent  there  to  be  '  finished.'  Don't  look  so  disappointed, 
Jack.  Truly  I  would  if  I  could." 

"  I  shall  not  give  you  up  yet,"  he  answered,  smiling 
[15] 


at  Helen's  intensity,  notwithstanding  his  genuine  regret. 
"  Tell  me  something  more  about  Miss  Thayer,  since  you 
insist  upon  her  becoming  your  substitute." 

"  Inez  is  a  darling,  in  spite  of  her  superiority,"  Helen 
replied,  gayly,  "  and  I  simply  could  not  have  been  mar 
ried  without  her  for  a  bridesmaid.  She  would  have  sailed 
two  weeks  earlier  except  for  our  wedding.  As  it  was, 
she  came  over  with  her  cousins,  and  has  been  travelling 
with  them  until  time  to  join  us  here  at  the  villa." 

"  De  Peyster  is  still  devoted,  I  judge?" 

"  Poor  Ferdinand !  His  persistency  has  quite  won  my 
sympathy.  He  simply  will  not  take  '  no '  for  an  answer, 
but  travels  back  and  forth  between  Boston  and  Phila 
delphia  like  any  commercial  traveller.  Going  over,  he 
has  a  bunch  of  American  Beauties  under  one  arm  and  a 
box  of  bonbons  under  the  other;  returning,  nothing  but 
another  refusal  to  add  to  those  Inez  has  already  given 
him." 

"  He  is  not  a  bad  sort  of  chap  at  all,  when  you  get 
past  his  peculiarities,"  Armstrong  added. 

"  Ferdy  is  a  splendid  fellow,  in  his  own  way,"  assented 
Helen,  warmly,  "  and  any  girl  might  do  a  great  deal 
worse  than  marry  him ;  but  he  is  not  Inez'  style  at  all. 
I  believe  her  trip  to  Europe  is  really  to  get  away  from 
him.  I  know  he  thinks  that  is  the  reason,  and  is  simply 
inconsolable." 

"  De  Peyster  would  be  a  good  match,"  remarked  Arm 
strong,  thoughtfully.  "  He  has  plenty  of  money  and 
plenty  of  leisure,  and  he  ought  to  be  able  to  make  his 
wife  fairly  comfortable." 

"  But  that  is  not  what  Inez  wants.  She  has  great 
ideas  about  affinities,  and  Ferdy  does  not  answer  to  the 
description." 

[16] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Then  there  is  your  uncle  Peabody,"  Armstrong 
prompted,  helpfully. 

"  Yes,  there  is  dear  Uncle  Peabody.  You  will  enjoy 
him  immensely." 

"  Does  he  live  up  to  his  reputation  of  a  man  with  an 
'ism'?" 

"  Oh,  Jack !  Some  one  has  been  maligning  him  to 
you.  That  is  because  he  is  the  only  original  member  of 
our  family,  and  really  the  most  useful." 

"  Indeed !  If  that  is  your  estimate  of  him,  it  shall 
also  be  mine.  I  was  prepared  for  a  well-developed  speci 
men  of  the  genus  crank." 

"  Wait  till  you  see  him."  Helen  laughed  at  her  hus 
band's  mental  picture.  "  He  is  a  crank,  in  a  way,  but 
he  is  a  mighty  cheerful  one  to  have  around." 

"  He  believes  in  making  an  air-plant  of  one's  self,  in 
order  to  help  him  forget  his  other  troubles,  does  he  not  ?" 

"  Who  has  been  making  fun  of  dear  Uncle  Peabody  ? 
I  must  have  him  tell  you  about  his  work  himself.  It 
is  true  that  he  believes  most  people  overeat,  and  it 
is  true  that  he  is  devoting  his  life  and  his  fortune  to 
finding  out  what  the  basis  of  proper  nutrition  really  is ; 
but  as  for  starving — wait  till  you  see  him !" 

"  You  have  relieved  me  considerably,"  Armstrong  re 
plied,  gravely.  "  From  what  I  had  heard  of  your  uncle 
I  had  expected  nothing  less  than  to  be  made  an  example 
of  for  the  sake  of  science- — and  you  have  already  dis 
covered  that  I  am  really  partial  to  my  meals." 

"  You  can  be  just  as  partial  to  them  as  ever,  Jack. 
But,  seriously,  I  know  you  will  find  him  most  interesting, 
and  I  shall  be  surprised  if  his  theories  do  not  give  you 
something  new  to  think  about." 

"  His  theories  will  not  do  for  me,"  said  Armstrong, 
2  [17] 


THE     SPELL 


assuming  a  position  of  mock  importance,  "  for  I  have 
always  been  taught  that  a  touch  of  indigestion  is  abso 
lutely  essential  to  genius." 

"Splendid!"  cried  Helen.  "That  will  be  just  the 
argument  to  start  the  conversation  at  our  first  dinner 
and  keep  it  from  being  commonplace.  I  have  been  try 
ing  to  think  how  we  could  get  Uncle  Peabody  interested. 
It  is  only  that  first  dinner  which  I  dread,  and  you  have 
helped  me  out  nobly." 

"  That  makes  two,"  suggested  Jack. 

"  Yes,  two.  Then  there  are  the  Sinclair  girls,  who 
have  been  studying  here  in  Florence  for  nearly  a  year. 
They  will  come  up  from  their  pension.  That  makes  four 
— and  the  others,  you  know,  are  Phil  Emory  and  Dick 
Eustis,  who  arrive  in  Florence  from  Rome  to-night.  I 
don't  need  to  tell  you  anything  about  them." 

"  There  is  a  whole  lot  you  might  tell  me  about  Emory 
if  you  chose." 

Armstrong  looked  slyly  into  his  wife's  face. 

"  Shame  on  you,  Jack !"  Helen  cried,  flushing ;  "  the 
idea  of  being  jealous  on  your  wedding  trip!" 

"  I  am  not  jealous  now."  He  emphasized  the  last 
word. 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  you  are  over  it." 

"  It  looks  like  a  very  jolly  party,"  he  hastened  to  add, 
seeing  that  Helen's  annoyance  was  genuine,  "  and  I  can 
see  where  we  become  old  married  folk  to-morrow.  You 
and  Uncle  Peabody  will  act  as  chaperons,  I  presume, 
Phil  and  Dick  will  look  after  the  Sinclair  girls,  while  I 
am  to  devote  myself  to  Inez  Thayer.  Is  that  the  pro 
gramme?" 

"  Exactly.  I  am  so  anxious  that  Inez  should  ap 
preciate  what  a  talented  husband  I  have.  She  has  heard 

[18] 


THE    SPELL 


great  stories  about  your  learning  and  erudition,  so  now 
you  must  live  up  to  the  picture." 

"  Then  suppose  we  start  for  home  if  you  are  quite 
rested.  It  is  plainly  incumbent  on  me  to  make  sure  that 
my  knowledge  of  the  classics  proves  equal  to  the  test." 


II 


THE  Armstrongs  had  installed  themselves  in  the 
Villa  Godilombra.  near  Settignano.  The  date  for 
the  wedding  was  no  sooner  settled  than  Jack  cabled 
to  secure  what  had  always  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  most 
glorious  location  around  Florence.  Years  before,  his 
favorite  tramp  had  been  out  of  the  ancient  city  through 
the  Porta  alia  Croce  to  La  Mensola,  whence  he  delighted 
to  ascend  the  hill  of  Settignano.  Every  villa  possessed  a 
peculiar  fascination  for  him.  The  "  Poggio  Ghcrardo  " 
— the  "  Prirno  Palagio  del  Refugio  "  of  the  Decameron 
— made  Boccaccio  real  to  him.  The  Villa  Buonarroti, 
whither  Michelangelo  was  sent  as  a  baby,  after  the  Ital 
ian  custom,  to  be  nursed  in  a  family  of  scarpellmi,  al 
ways  attracted  him,  and  times  without  number  he  had 
stood  admiringly  before  the  wall  in  one  of  the  rooms, 
gazing  at  the  figure  of  the  satyr  which  the  infant 
prodigy  drew  with  a  burning  stick  taken  from  the 
fire.  In  those  days  he  had  been  seized  with  a  secret 
yearning  to  become  an  artist,  and  often  he  had  tried  to 
reproduce  the  satyr  from  memory,  but  always  the  ugly 
visage  assumed  a  mocking,  sneering  aspect  which  caused 
him  to  relinquish  his  cherished  ambition  in  despair. 

But  the  Villa  Godilombra  appealed  to  Armstrong  for 
a  different  reason.  It  stood  high  up  on  the  hill,  afford 
ing  a  wonderful  view  of  the  village  of  Settignano  and 

[20] 


THE    SPELL 


the  wide  -  spreading  valley  of  the  Arno.  The  villa  it 
self,  with  its  overhanging  eaves,  coigned  angles,  and 
narrow  windows,  set  on  heavy  consoles,  was  essentially 
Tuscan,  and  impressive  far  out  of  proportion  to  its  size. 
It  would  have  seemed  too  massive  but  for  an  arcade  at 
either  end,  the  one  connecting  the  house  itself  with 
its  chapel,  the  other  leading  from  the  first  floor  through 
a  spiral  stairway  in  one  pier  of  the  arcade  to  what 
originally,  in  the  days  of  the  Gamberelli,  had  been  an 
old  fish-pond  and  herb-garden.  In  front  of  the  villa 
a  row  of  antiquated  stone  vases  shared  the  honors  with 
equally  dilapidated  stone  dogs  along  a  grassy  terrace 
held  up  by  a  low  wall,  while  beyond  this  and  the  house 
was  the  vineyard. 

Armstrong  had  studied  the  plans  of  the  house  and 
grounds  from  a  distance,  because,  after  his  disappoint 
ing  experience  with  Michelangelo's  satyr,  he  had  firmly 
determined  to  become  an  architect  and  to  build  Italian 
houses  in  America.  He  had  walked  up  and  down  the 
long  bowling-green  behind  the  villa,  carefully  noting  the 
number  of  statues  set  upon  the  high  retaining  wall 
and  figuring  the  height  of  the  hedges.  One  day  old 
Giuseppe,  the  sun-baked  gardener  who  had  watched  the 
boy  first  with  suspicion  and  then  with  interest,  invited 
him  to  enter,  and  his  joy  had  been  complete.  Giuseppe 
showed  him  the  fish-pond  and  the  grotto,  lying  in  the 
shadow  of  the  ancient  cypresses,  made  up  of  varicolored 
shells  and  stones,  with  shepherds  and  nymphs  occupying 
niches  around  a  trickling  fountain.  He  led  him  to  the 
balustrade  at  the  end  of  the  bowling-green,  and  pointed 
out  the  panorama  which  terminated  in  the  hills  beyond 
the  southern  bank  of  the  river. 

Parallel  with  the  back  of  the  villa  was  another  wall 
[21] 


THE     SPELL 


which  supported  a  terrace  of  cypress  and  ilex  trees. 
Behind  this  was  the  salvatico,  without  which  no  self-re 
specting  Italian  villa  could  maintain  its  dignity,  with 
stone  seats  beneath  the  heavy  foliage  offering  a  grateful 
relief  from  the  glare  of  the  sun.  And  here  and  there  were 
white  statues  of  classic  goddesses,  to  relieve  the  loneliness 
had  it  existed.  An  iron  gate,  let  into  the  wall  opposite 
the  main  doorway  of  the  villa,  led  into  a  small  garden, 
this  leading  in  turn  into  another  grotto,  which,  with  its 
fountain  and  statues,  formed  an  extension  of  the  vista. 
On  either  side  a  balustraded  flight  of  steps  led  up  to 
an  artificial  height  —  the  Italians'  beloved  terrazza  — 
flanked  by  rows  of  orange  and  lemon  trees,  growing 
luxuriantly  in  their  red  earthen  pots ;  while  against  the 
wide  balustrades  rested  the  heavily  scented  clusters  of 
the  camellia  and  the  rose-tinted  oleander. 

Twelve  years  is  a  short  space  of  time  in  Italy,  where 
age  is  reckoned  by  the  millennial,  so  it  seemed  perfect 
ly  natural,  when  Armstrong  arrived  in  Florence,  to  find 
Giuseppe  still  at  his  old  post  and  included  in  the  lease 
as  a  part  of  the  Villa  Godilombra.  The  old  man  ex 
pressed  no  surprise,  no  delight — yet  at  heart  he  was 
well  pleased.  The  previous  tenants  of  the  villa  had 
been  the  unimaginative  family  of  a  German-American 
brewer,  and  their  preference  for  beer  over  the  wonderful 
vino  rosso  Avhich  he  himself  had  pressed  out  from  the 
luscious  grapes  in  the  vineyard  filled  his  heart  with  sor 
row.  He  confided  to  Annetta,  the  red-lipped  maid  Arm 
strong  had  engaged  for  Helen,  that  he  "  was  glad  to 
serve  an  '  Americano  molto  importante '  rather  than  a 
porco."  And  Giuseppe  took  great  satisfaction  in  plac 
ing  upon  that  last  word  all  the  emphasis  needed  to  ex 
press  six  months'  accumulated  disgust. 

[22] 


THE     SPELL 


From  the  moment  the  Armstrongs  arrived,  Giuseppe's 
admiration  for  Helen  knew  no  bounds.  To  him  she  was 
the  personification  of  all  that  was  perfection.  Not  that 
he  expressed  it,  even  to  Annetta — he  would  have  forgot 
ten  mass  on  Good  Friday  sooner  than  so  forget  his  place. 
It  was  rather  that  devotion  which  is  born  and  not  made — 
occasionally,  but  not  often,  found  in  those  who  enter  so 
intimately  into  the  life  of  those  they  serve,  yet  who 
must  always  feel  themselves  apart  from  it.  Hardly  a 
day  had  passed  since  the  Armstrongs  had  assumed  pos 
session  of  the  villa  that  Helen  had  not  found  the  choicest 
fragole  at  her  plate,  each  juicy  berry  carefully  selected 
and  resting  upon  a  bed  of  its  own  leaves  at  the  bottom 
of  the  little  basket.  Her  room  was  ever  redolent  with 
the  odor  of  the  flowers  he  smuggled  in,  always  unob 
served  ;  and  his  instructions  to  the  more  frivolous  Annetta 
as  to  her  duties  toward  the  nobile  donna  were  such  as  to 
cause  that  young  woman  to  throw  her  head  haughtily  on 
one  side,  with  the  observation  that  she  was  probably  as 
well  acquainted  with  the  requirements  of  a  lady's  maid  as 
any  gardener  was  apt  to  be,  even  though  he  were  old 
enough  to  be  her  grandfather. 

This  particular  tiff  had  taken  place  while  Armstrong 
and  his  wife  were  making  their  excursion  to  Fiesole. 
On  their  return  they  had  found  Giuseppe  in  a  morose 
mood,  which  quickly  vanished  when  Helen  told  him,  in 
her  broken  Italian,  that  she  expected  guests  upon  the 
morrow,  and  depended  upon  him  to  see  that  every  room 
was  properly  decorated,  as  he  alone  could  do  it.  The 
old  man  could  hardly  wait  to  arrange  the  chairs  upon 
the  veranda,  so  eager  was  he  to  seek  revenge  upon  his 
youthful  tormentor. 

"  Did  she  ask  you  to  arrange  the  flowers,  young  pea- 
[23] 


cock-feather?"  asked  Giuseppe  of  Annctta  when  he  found 
her  in  the  kitchen.  "  Did  she  trust  you  even  to  bring 
the  message  to  old  Giuseppe?  No.  With  her  own  lips 
the  EcceUenza  praised  the  one  servant  on  whom  she 
can  rely." 

"  She  knows  you  are  good  for  nothing  else,"  Annetta 
retorted,  with  a  scornful  laugh  and  a  toss  of  her  pretty 
head ;  "  and  she  wishes  to  get  you  out  of  the  way  while 
we  attend  to  the  really  important  matters.  See,"  she 
cried,  as  the  tinkling  of  the  maids'  bell  punctuated  her 
remarks,  "  the  nobile  donna  will  now  give  me  commands." 

Giuseppe  could  not  so  far  forget  his  dignity  as  to  re 
ply  to  such  an  outrageous  slander,  so  he  contented 
himself  with  casting  upon  Annetta  his  most  withering 
glances  as  she  hastily  brushed  past  him,  holding  back  her 
skirts  lest  they  be  defiled  by  touching  the  old  man.  He 
watched  her  angrily  until  she  vanished  through  the  door, 
then,  with  the  choicest  maledictions  at  his  command, 
he  shuffled  into  the  garden — into  his  own  domain,  where 
the  present  generation  of  ill-bred  servants,  as  he  ex 
plained  to  himself,  could  vex  him  not. 

Mrs.  John  Armstrong's  first  dinner  at  the  Villa  Godi- 
lombra  was  an  unqualified  success.  Uncle  Pcabody  had 
arrived  early  that  morning ;  his  optimism  had  set  its  seal 
of  approval  upon  the  evident  happiness  of  the  bridal 
couple,  and  he  had  already  established  himself  as  chief 
reflector  of  the  concentrated  joy  which  he  saw  about  him. 
Inez  Thayer  was  received  into  Helen's  welcoming  arms 
soon  after  luncheon,  and  was  at  once  installed  in  the  best 
guest-chamber  for  an  extended  visit.  Two  dusty  vetture 
brought  the  Sinclair  girls,  Emory  and  Eustis,  in  time  for 

dinner,  each  driver  striving  to  deliver  his  passengers  first 

[24] 


THE    SPELL 


in  anticipation  of  an  extra  pourboire.  The  company  was 
therefore  complete,  and  each  member  quite  in  the  spirit 
of  the  occasion. 

The  great  candelabra  cast  their  light  upon  the  ani 
mated  party  seated  about  the  table  in  such  a  manner 
that  the  old  paintings  hanging  upon  the  walls  of  the 
high  room  were  but  dimly  visible.  The  long  windows 
were  open,  and  the  light  breeze  just  cooled  the  air 
enough  to  mellow  the  temperature,  without  so  much  as 
causing  the  candle-flames  to  flicker.  Giuseppe's  choicest 
flowers,  deftly  arranged  upon  the  table  by  Helen's  skil 
ful  hands,  contrasted  pleasantly  with  the  antique  silver 
and  china  which  had  once  been  the  pride  of  the  original 
owner  of  the  villa ;  and  the  menu  itself,  wisely  intrusted 
by  Helen  to  the  old  Italian  cook,  was  rife  with  constant 
surprises  for  the  American  palate.  Even  the  wines  were 
new — if  not  in  name,  at  least  in  flavor,  for  Italian  vint 
ages  leave  behind  them  their  native  richness  and  aroma 
when  transplanted.  Never  was  any  vino  rosso  so  de- 
'  licious  as  that  which  Giuseppe  made,  even  though  un 
appreciated  by  his  former  master;  never  such  lacrima 
Christi  as  that  which  Armstrong  secured  in  a  little  wine 
shop  near  the  Bargcllo;  never  such  Asti  spumante  as 
that  which  sparkled  in  the  glasses,  eager  to  share  its  own 
bubbling  happiness  in  return  for  the  privilege  of  touch 
ing  the  fair  lips  of  the  beautiful  donne  Americane. 

"  We  had  a  friend  of  yours  on  board  ship,  Miss 
Thayer,"  said  Emory,  speaking  to  his  left-hand  neigh 
bor  as  they  seated  themselves. 

"  A  friend  of  mine  ?"  queried  Inez.  "  I  can't  think 
who  it  could  be." 

"  Ferdy  De  Peyster,"  replied  Emory. 

Inez  cast  a  quick  glance  at  Helen.  "  Really  ?"  she 
[25] 


THE     SPELL 


asked.  "  I  thought  he  was  going  to  spend  the  summer 
at  Bar  Harbor." 

"  Changed  his  mind  at  the  last  moment,  he  said. 
Could  not  resist  the  charms  of  Italy.  Do  you  know, 
Helen  " — Emory  addressed  himself  to  his  hostess — "  De 
Peyster  has  developed  a  mania  for  art." 

Helen  laughed.  "  No,"  she  replied,  "  that  is  news 
indeed.  It  is  a  side  of  Ferdy's  nature  which  even  his 
best  friends  had  not  suspected.  Is  he  coming  to  Flor 
ence?" 

"  Can't  say ;  but  he  is  evidently  planning  to  leave 
Rome.  We  left  him  at  the  Vatican,  in  the  Pinacoteca, 
standing  before  Raphael's  '  Transfiguration.' ' 

"  With  a  Baedeker  in  his  hand  ?"  queried  Jack. 

"  No,  studying  Cook's  Continental  Time-table." 

"  What  a  detective  you  would  make,  Mr.  Emory," 
suggested  Mary  Sinclair  as  the  laughter  subsided. 

"  I  have  a  better  story  about  De  Peyster  than  that." 

Eustis  waited  to  be  urged. 

"  Give  it  to  us,  Dick,"  said  Jack,  helpfully. 

"  It  was  at  Gibraltar,"  began  Eustis.  "  We  were 
in  the  same  party  going  over  the  fortifications.  De 
Peyster,  you  know,  enlisted  at  the  time  of  the  Spanish 
war.  Some  family  friend  in  the  Senate  obtained  for 
him  a  berth  as  second  lieutenant,  and  his  company  got 
as  far  as  Key  West.  He  rather  prides  himself  on  his 
military  knowledge,  and  he  confided  to  me  that  he  had 
his  uniform  with  him  in  case  he  was  invited  to  attend  any 
Court  functions.  Well,  all  the  way  around  De  Peyster 
explained  everything  to  us.  The  Tommy  Atkins  who 
was  our  guide  was  as  serious  as  a  mummy,  but  confirmed 
everything  Ferdy  said.  When  you  reach  the  gallery  at 
the  top,  you  remember,  the  guide  points  out  the  parade- 

[26] 


THE    SPELL 


ground  below,  and  it  happened  that  there  was  a  bat 
talion  going  through  its  evolutions. 

"  '  Ah !'  said  De  Peyster,  '  this  is  very  interesting.' 
Then  he  described  each  movement,  giving  it  the  techni 
cal  military  name.  At  last  he  turned  to  our  guide  and 
said,  patronizingly :  '  I'm  a  bit  disappointed,  sergeant, 
after  all  I  have  heard  of  the  precision  of  the  English 
army.  I  have  often  seen  American  soldiers  go  through 
those  same  movements — just  as  \vell  as  that.' 

"  The  sergeant  saluted  respectfully  and  gravely. 
'  Quite  likely,  sir,'  he  said,  *  quite  likely.  These  are 
raw  recruits — arrived  yesterday,  sir !' ' 

"  De  Peyster  was  a  sport,  though,"  added  Emory. 
"  When  he  saw  that  the  joke  was  on  him  he  handed 
Tommy  a  shining  sovereign  and  said :  '  Here,  sergeant, 
have  this  on  me,  and  drink  a  health  to  our  two  armies — 
may  comparisons  never  be  needed.' ' 

Helen  clapped  her  hands.  "  Good  for  Ferdy !  He 
is  all  right  if  people  would  only  leave  him  alone." 

"  Too  bad  he  has  so  much  money !"  Eustis  was  re 
flective.  "  If  De  Peyster  had  to  get  out  and  hustle  a 
bit  you  would  find  he  had  a  whole  lot  of  stuff  in  him." 

"  Of  course  he  has,"  Uncle  Peabody  agreed. 

"Do  you  know  Mr.  De  Peyster?"  Inez  asked,  sur 
prised. 

"  No,"  replied  Uncle  Peabody,  "  I  don't  need  to  after 
hearing  Mr.  Eustis's  summary.  On  general  principles, 
every  one  has  *  a  whole  lot  of  stuff  in  him.'  The  trou 
ble  is  that  people  don't  give  it  a  chance  to  come  out." 

"  Your  confidence  is  evidently  based  upon  your  gen 
eral  optimism?"  Armstrong  remembered  that  Helen 
had  mentioned  this  as  a  cardinal  characteristic. 

"  Yes,  but  proved  by  a  thousand  and  one  experiments. 
[27] 


THE    SPELL 


Our  present  subject,  who  now  becomes  No.  1002,  is  ap 
parently  handicapped  by  the  misfortune  of  inherited 
leisure.  It  is  rarely  that  a  man  of  possession  reaches 
his  fullest  development  without  the  spur  of  necessity. 
More  frequently  we  see  one  extreme  or  the  other — too 
much  possession  or  too  much  necessity." 

"  That  is  all  very  well  as  a  theory,  but  does  it  really 
prove  anything  as  regards  De  Peyster?"  questioned 
Armstrong.  "  Personally  I  think  optimism  is  a  dan 
gerous  thing.  This  confidence  that  everything  is  com 
ing  out  right  is  what  makes  criminals  out  of  bank 
cashiers." 

"  There  is  a  vast  difference  between  real  and  false 
optimism,"  replied  Uncle  Peabody.  "  I  knew  a  man 
once  who  called  himself  a  cheerful  pessimist,  because 
every  time  he  planted  a  seed  it  grew  down  instead  of 
up.  He  came  to  expect  this,  so  it  did  not  worry  him 
any.  He  was  a  real  optimist,  even  though  he  did  not 
know  it." 

"  What  would  be  your  prescription  for  a  case  like  Mr. 
De  Peystcr's?"  queried  Bertha  Sinclair. 

"  A  good  wife,  possessed  of  ambition,  sympathy,  and 
tact,"  Uncle  Peabody  replied,  promptly.  "  This,  my 
dear  Miss  Sinclair,  is  your  opportunity  to  assist  me 
in  proving  my  argument.  Will  you  be  my  accom 
plice?" 

"  I  ?  Why,  I  don't  even  know  Mr.  De  Peyster," 
Bertha  protested.  "  You  must  find  some  one  else." 

"  Very  well,"  sighed  Mr.  Cartwright.  "  You  see  how 
difficult  it  is  for  science  to  assert  its  laws." 

Helen  caught  sight  of  Inez'  cheeks  and  hastened  to 
her  friend's  relief. 

"  Uncle  Peabody,  do  you  know  that  you  are  respon- 
[28] 


THE    SPELL 


sible  for  the  first  difference  of  opinion  which  has  arisen 
between  my  husband  and  me?" 

"  My  gracious,  no!     Can  it  be  possible?" 

"  It  is  a  fact.  I  stated  to  him  only  yesterday  that 
perfect  digestion  was  the  only  basis  on  which  health 
and  happiness  can  possibly  rest.  You  taught  me  that, 
but  Jack  asserts  that  a  touch  of  indigestion  is  absolutely 
essential  to  genius." 

"  How  does  he  know?  Has  he  a  touch  of  indi 
gestion?" 

"  Not  a  touch,"  laughed  Armstrong,  "  and  that 
proves  my  statement.  I  really  believe  I  might  have 
been  a  genius  if  my  digestion  had  not  always  been  so 
disgustingly  strong." 

"  Don't  despair,  my  dear  boy." 

Uncle  Peabody  looked  at  Jack  over  his  spectacles. 
"  Genius  is  a  germ,  and  sometimes  develops  late  in  life. 
If  your  theory  is  correct,  a  few  more  gastronomic  orgies 
such  as  this  will  make  you  eligible." 

"  But  is  there  not  something  in  what  I  say  ?"  Arm 
strong  persisted,  seriously.  "  Is  it  not  true  that  good 
health  is  against  intellectual  progression?  Is  not  good 
health  the  supremacy  of  the  physical  over  the  mental? 
The  healthy  man  is  an  animal — he  eats  and  sleeps  too 
much.  Pain  and  suffering  have  not  developed  the  ner 
vous  side,  which  is  so  closely  connected  with  the  intel 
lectual.  When  the  physical  side  becomes  weakened,  then 
the  brain  begins  to  act." 

Uncle  Peabody  listened  attentively  and  then  removed 
his  spectacles.  "  My  dear  Jack  Armstrong,"  he  said,  at 
last,  "  I  can  see  some  fun  ahead  for  both  of  us,  and 
Helen  has  placed  me  still  further  in  her  debt  by  her 
choice  of  a  husband.  Your  argument  is  not  a  new  one. 

[29] 


THE     SPELL 


It  was  invented  a  great  many  3rears  ago  in  France  by 
some  clever  person  who  wished  to  have  an  excuse  for 
late  nights,  absinthe,  and  cigarettes.  Do  you  mean 
seriously  to  advance  a  theory  which,  if  logically  carried 
through  to  the  end,  would  credit  hospitals  and  homes 
for  the  hopelessly  depraved  with  being  the  highest  in 
tellectual  establishments  in  the  world?" 

"  But  look  at  the  examples  which  can  be  cited," 
Armstrong  continued,  undisturbed.  "  Zola  produced 
nothing  of  importance  after  he  adopted  the  simple  life, 
and  Swinburne's  poetry  lost  all  its  fire  as  soon  as  he 
'  reformed.' ' 

"  Can  you  prove  in  cither  case  that  the  question 
of  nutrition  or  digestion  entered  into  the  matter  at 
all?" 

"  Oh,  it  may  have  been  a  coincidence,  of  course ;  but 
many  other  cases  might  be  added." 

Uncle  Peabody  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  Let  me 
give  you  a  simple  problem,"  he  said,  at  length.  "  Helen 
tells  me  that  you  have  an  automobile  now  on  its  way  to 
Florence?" 

Armstrong  assented. 

"  When  it  arrives  I  presume  you  will  engage  a  chauf 
feur?" 

"  What  has  an  automobile  to  do  with  nutrition,  Mr. 
Cartwright?"  demanded  Mary  Sinclair.  "  Surely  an 
automobile  has  no  digestion." 

"  My  application  is  near  at  hand.  When  you  engage 
that  chauffeur  I  presume  you  will  insist  that  he  knows 
the  mechanism  of  the  machine,  understands  the  applica 
tion  of  the  motive  power  and  other  details  which  enter 
into  safe  and  successful  handling  of  the  car?" 

cT> 

"  Naturally,"  replied  Jack.     "  I  am  not  introducing 
[30] 


THE     SPELL 


my  machine  here  for  the  purpose  either  of  murder  or 
suicide." 

"  Exactly.  That  is  just  what  I  wanted  you  to  say. 
Now,  every  human  stomach  is  an  engine  which  requires 
at  least  as  intelligent  handling  as  that  of  an  automobile. 
Upon  its  successful  working  depends  the  mechanical 
action  of  the  body.  We  may  disregard  the  additional 
dependence  of  the  brain.  Petroleum  in  the  automobile 
is  replaced  by  what  we  call  food  in  the  human  engine. 
Too  much  of  either,  unintelligently  applied,  produces 
the  same  unfortunate  result.  Now  I  ask  you,  John  Arm 
strong,  would  you  engage  as  chauffeur  for  your  auto 
mobile  a  man  who  knew  no  more  about  the  mechanism  of 
its  engine,  or  how  to  feed  and  handle  it  properly,  than 
you  yourself  know  about  your  own  body  engine?" 

"  No,"  Armstrong  admitted,  frankly,  "  I  would  not." 

"  But  which  is  more  serious  —  a  damage  resulting 
from  his  ignorance  or  from  your  own?" 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Cartwright,"  said  Jack,  laughingly, 
"  you  promised  that  there  was  fun  ahead  for  us  both. 
At  present  it  seems  to  be  mostly  for  you  and  our 
friends." 

"  Who  started  the  discussion?" 

"  Helen ;  but  I  admit  my  error  in  being  drawn  into  it. 
I  had  not  expected  to  be  convicted  upon  my  own  evi 
dence." 

Helen  rose.  "  I  must  rescue  my  husband  from  the 
calamity  I  have  brought  upon  him.  Come,  let  us  have 
our  coffee  in  the  garden." 


IF  one  could  have  looked  within  Uncle  Peabody's  room 
after  the  other  guests  had  snuffed  out  their  candles, 
he  would  have  discovered  its  inmate  seated  beside  the 
flickering  light  with  an  open  letter  in  his  hand.  He 
had  read  it  over  many  times  since  its  receipt  nearly 
three  months  earlier,  announcing  in  Helen's  character 
istic  way  her  engagement  and  approaching  marriage. 
No  one  else  had  ever  come  so  closely  into  his  life,  and  he 
felt  a  certain  responsibility  to  satisfy  himself  that  the 
girl  had  made  no  mistake  in  the  important  step  which 
she  had  taken.  Now  that  he  had  actualty  met  her  hus 
band,  he  again  perused  the  lines  which  had  introduced 
his  new  nephew  to  him. 

"  It  has  actually  happened  at  last,"  the  letter  began, 
"  and  your  favorite  wager  of  '  a  thousand  to  one  on  the 
unexpected  '  has  really  won.  In  other  words,  I,  Helen 
Cartwright,  condemned  (by  myself )  to  live  and  die  an 
old  maid  as  penalty  for  being  so  critical  of  the  genus 
homo,  now  confess  myself  completely,  hopelessly  in  love, 
and  so  happy  in  my  new  estate  that  I  wonder  why  I  ever 
hesitated. 

"  It  is  all  so  curious.  The  things  which  interested  me 
before  now  seem  so  commonplace  compared  to  the  events 

to  come  in  connection  with  this  broader  existence  which 

[32] 


THE     SPELL 


is  opening1  up  before  me.  How  infinitely  more  gratify 
ing  it  is  to  feel  myself  living  for  and  a  part  of  another's 
life,  how  comforting1  to  know  that  some  other  person 
ality,  whom  I  can  love  and  respect,  feels  himself  to  be 
living  for  and  a  part  of  my  life.  It  adds  to  the  serious 
ness  of  it  all,  but  how  it  increases  the  satisfaction! 

"  /  wish  I  could  describe  John  Armstrong  to  you,  but 
now  that  I  am  about  to  make  the  attempt  I  realize  how 
difficult  a  task  I  have  undertaken.  He  is  eight  years 
older  than  I,  but  sometimes  he  seems  to  be  years  younger, 
while  again  I  feel  almost  like  a  child  beside  him.  No, 
Uncle  Peabody,  it  is  not  a  similar  case  to  that  little  Mrs. 
Johnson  whom  you  quoted  when  you  were  last  home  as 
saying  that  a  woman  feels  as  old  as  the  way  her  husband 
treats  her.  I  know  this  will  pop  into  your  mind,  so  I 
will  promptly  head  you  off.  The  fact  is  that  Jack  is 
a  very  remarkable  man.  He  is  handsome,  with  great 
strength  of  character  showing  in  every  feature,  he  is 
tall  and  athletic, — but  it  is  his  wonderful  mental  ability 
which  will  most  impress  you.  Think  of  a  man  playing 
on  the  Harvard  'Varsity  eleven,  rowing  on  the  crew,  and 
yet  graduating  with  a  summa  cum  laude ! 

"  Jack  is  a  superb  dancer,  thus  disproving  the  com 
mon  belief  that  a  man  can't  be  clever  at  both  ends;  and 
at  the  Assemblies,  even  before  we  were  engaged,  I  used 
to  anticipate  those  numbers  which  he  had  taken  more 
than  all  the  others.  Besides  this,  his  conversation  was 
always  so  original, — touching  frequently  upon  topics 
which  were  new  to  me.  His  particular  fad  is  what  he 
calls  '  humanism  '  and  his  particular  loves  the  great 
writers  of  the  past, — his  '  divinities,'  as  he  calls  them. 
You  probably  understand  just  what  all  this  means,  but, 
alas!  most  of  it  is  beyond  my  comprehension!  What  he 
3  [33] 


THE     SPELL 


tells  me  interests  me,  of  course, — it  even  fascinates  me. 
I  can  follow  him  up  to  a  certain  point;  then  we  reach 
my  limitations,  and  I  am  forced  to  admit  my  lack  of 
understanding.  That  is  when  I  feel  so  like  an  infant 
beside  him.  He  is  as  patient  as  can  be,  and  insists  that 
when  once  I  am  in  Florence,  where  the  air  itself  is  heavy 
with  the  learning  of  the  past,  I  shall  be  able  to  compre 
hend  it  all,  and  it  will  mean  the  same  to  me  that  it  does 
to  him.  I  wish  I  felt  as  confident! 

"  We  are  to  be  married  in  April,  and  Jack  has  taken 
the  Villa  Godilombra  in  Settignano  for  the  season.  We 
expect  to  arrive  there  early  in  May,  and  we  want  you 
to  come  to  us  for  just,  as  long  a  visit  as  you  can  arrange. 
You  won't  disappoint  me,  will  you,  dear  Uncle  Peabody? 
We  all  have  been  broken-hearted  that  you  have  so  long 
delayed  your  return,  and  one  of  the  events  in  our  plans 
for  Florence  to  which  7  am  looking  forward  with  the 
greatest  eagerness  is  this  visit  with  you.  Write  and  tell 
me  how  your  work  progresses,  but  don't  say  '  /  told  you 
so.'  This  would  show  that  you  really  expected  it  all  the 
time,  and  your  favorite  argument  would  lose  its  force. 
Just  say  that  you  will  come  to  us  at  Settignano." 

The  letter  itself  showed  that  Helen  had  changed  much 
during  the  months  which  had  elapsed  since  he  had  last 
seen  her.  There  was  a  more  serious  undertone  and  a 
broader  outlook, — due  undoubtedly  to  Armstrong's  in 
fluence.  Uncle  Peabody  wondered  whether  Helen  could 
have  been  attracted  to  this  man  by  her  admiration  for 
his  mental  strength  rather  than  by  any  real  sentiment, 
perhaps  mistaking  the  one  for  the  other.  This  was  the 
point  he  wished  to  settle  in  his  own  mind,  and  this  was 
why  he  had  studied  them  both,  from  the  moment  of  his 

[34] 


THE    SPELL 


arrival,  much  more  carefully  than  cither  one  of  them 
realized. 

Armstrong  was  a  remarkable  man,  as  Helen  had  said. 
Even  in  the  few  hours  he  had  known  him,  Uncle  Pea- 
body  found  much  to  admire.  It  was  true  that  his  man 
ner  toward  Helen  showed  indulgence,  almost  as  to  a 
child  rather  than  to  a  wife ;  but  his  devotion  was  entirely 
obvious,  and  this  relation  was  to  be  expected  after  read 
ing  Helen's  letter.  Still,  Mr.  Cartwright  told  himself, 
the  existence  of  this  relation  necessitated  a  certain  read 
justment  before  a  perfection  of  united  interests  could  be 
attained.  Armstrong  was  bound  to  be  the  dominating 
force,  and  Helen  must  inevitably  respond  to  this  new  in 
fluence,  strange  as  it  now  seemed  to  her.  His  knowledge 
of  her  sympathetic  and  intuitive  grasp  of  his  own  pet 
theories  gave  him  confidence  to  believe  that  this  response 
would  be  equally  prompt  and  comprehensive. 

Henry  Peabody  Cartwright  was  distinctly  a  citizen  of 
the  world.  Boston  had  been  his  birthplace,  Boston  had 
been  the  base  of  his  eminently  successful  business  opera 
tions,  and  his  name  still  figured  in  the  list  of  the  city's 
"  largest  taxpayers."  Beyond  this,  the  city  of  his  early 
activity  had,  during  the  past  twenty  years,  seen  him 
only  as  a  visitor  at  periodic  intervals.  He  had  emerged 
from  his  commercial  environment  at  the  age  of  forty, 
with  a  firm  determination  to  gratify  his  ideals. 

Fortunately  for  him,  and  for  mankind  as  well,  his 
ideals  were  not  fully  crystallized  when  he  set  out  to 
gratify  them.  Boston  was  entirely  satisfactory  to  him 
as  an  abiding-place,  but  he  felt  a  leaven  at  work  within 
him  which  demanded  a  larger  arena  than  even  the  out 
lying  territory  of  Greater  Boston  covered.  He  started, 
therefore,  in  the  late  eighties  for  a  trip  around  the 

[35] 


THE    SPELL 


world,  with  the  definite  purpose,  as  he  himself  an 
nounced,  of  "  giving  things  a  chance  to  happen  to  him." 

"  I  have  no  schedule  and  no  plans,"  he  said  to  those 
who  questioned  him.  "  I  shall  '  hitch  my  wagon  to  a 
star,'  but  always  with  my  grip  near  at  hand,  so  that  I 
may  change  stars  upon  a  moment's  notice." 

There  were  no  immediate  family  ties  to  interfere  with 
the  carrying  -  out  of  what  seemed  to  his  friends  to  be 
rather  quixotic  ideas.  There  may  have  been  some  youth 
ful  romance,  but,  if  so,  no  one  ever  succeeded  in  learn 
ing  anything  of  it  from  him. 

"  It  is  all  perfectly  simple,"  he  once  good-naturedly 
replied  to  a  persistent  relative.  "  The  girls  I  was  will 
ing  to  marry  would  not  have  me,  and  those  who  would 
have  me  I  was  not  willing  to  marry.  I  used  to  think 
that  I  would  become  more  attractive  as  I  grew  older, 
but  I  have  given  up  that  idea  now.  Once  I  tried  to  rub 
a  freckle  off  with  sand  -  paper  and  pumice  -  stone  and 
found  blood  under  the  skin ;  but  the  freckle — the  same 
old  freckle — is  there  to  this  day." 

His  devotion  to  women  in  the  composite  was  consistent 
and  sincere;  the  fondness  which  existed  between  himself 
and  his  brother's  family  was  such  that  his  departure 
had  left  a  distinct  void,  and  his  visits  home  were  events 
circled  with  red  ink  in  the  family  calendar.  He  enjoyed 
these  visits  no  less  than  they ;  but  with  never  more  than  a 
day  or  two  of"  warning  he  would  announce  his  intention 
of  leaving  for  Egypt  or  India  or  some  spot  more  or  less 
remote  in  his  quest  for  the  unexpected.  To  the  re 
proaches  which  were  levelled  at  him,  he  replied,  with  a 
smile  which  defied  controversy: 

"  I  am  just  as  sorry  not  to  be  with  you  all  as  you  can 
possibly  be  to  have  me  away ;  but  I  have  educated  myself 

[36] 


THE     SPELL 


to  the  separation,  and  have  thus  overcome  the  necessity 
for  personal  propinquity." 

On  that  first  trip  around  the  world  Uncle  Peabody 
found  one  of  his  ideals,  although  he  did  not  realize  its 
vast  importance  until  several  years  later.  Japan  ap 
pealed  to  him,  and  the  longer  he  remained  there  the  more 
impressed  he  became  with  certain  of  the  national  charac 
teristics.  First  of  all,  he  marvelled  at  the  evenness  of 
temper  which  the  people  displayed,  at  their  endurance, 
their  patience.  He  watched  the  carefulness  with  which 
they  weighed  the  importance  of  each  problem  before 
accepting  its  responsibility,  and  their  utter  abandon  in 
carrying  it  through  when  once  undertaken.  This  was 
twenty  years  before  the  Russo-Japanese  war,  and  he 
had  come  among  them  with  the  existing  Occidental 
estimate  of  their  paganism  and  barbarity.  It  may  have 
been  a  species  of  incredulity  leading  to  curiosity  which 
induced  him  to  remain  among  them,  but  as  a  result  of 
his  sojourn  he  discovered  that  they  were  philosophers 
rather  than  fatalists,  geniuses  rather  than  barbarians. 

He  questioned  his  new  hosts,  when  he  came  to  know 
them  better,  and  was  told  quite  seriously  and  quite 
naturally  that  they  never  became  angry,  because  anger 
produced  poison  in  the  system  and  retarded  diges 
tion  ;  that  upon  digestion  depended  health ;  that  upon 
health  depended  happiness,  and  upon  happiness  depend 
ed  personal  efficiency  and  life  itself.  They  explained 
that  forethought  was  one  of  the  cardinal  factors  of  their 
creed,  but  added  that  its  antithesis,  fear-thought,  was 
equally  important  as  an  element  to  be  eliminated.  They 
called  his  attention  to  the  fact  that  they  did  not  live 
upon  what  they  ate,  but  upon  what  they  digested,  and 
that  by  masticating  their  food  more  thoroughly  than  he 

[37] 


THE     SPELL 


did  they  secured  from  the  smaller  quantity  the  same 
amount  of  nourishment  without  needlessly  overloading 
their  systems  with  undigested  food  which  could  not  pos 
sibly  be  assimilated. 

This  last  theory  did  not  altogether  appeal  to  Pea- 
body  Cartwright  at  first.  His  friends  at  the  Somerset 
Club  still  held  memories  of  his  epicurean  proclivities, 
and  they  were  not  weary  even  yet  of  recalling  the  time 
when  he  had  won  a  goodly  wager  by  naming,  blindfold 
ed,  five  different  vintages  of  Burgundy  and  Bordeaux. 
But  the  more  he  thought  it  over  the  more  convinced  he 
became  that  the  something  to  which  he  had  promised 
to  give  a  chance  had  really  happened  to  him.  He  pon 
dered,  he  experimented — but  he  still  continued  to  eat 
larger  quantities  of  food  than  the  Japanese. 

A  year  later  he  was  in  Italy,  and  in  Venice  Mr. 
Cartwright  suddenly  discovered  that  he  had  found  the 
geographical  centre  of  the  civilized  world.  With  Venice 
as  the  starting-point,  one  could  reach  London  or  Con 
stantinople,  St.  Petersburg  or  New  York,  with  equal  ex 
ertion.  Venice,  therefore,  became  his  adopted  home,  al 
though  it  could  claim  no  more  of  his  presence  than  any 
one  of  a  dozen  other  cities  in  the  four  quarters  of  the 
globe.  During  the  twenty  years,  he  had  succeeded  in 
making  himself  a  part  of  each  one — had  become  a  veri 
table  citizen  of  the  world,  but  by  no  means  a  man  without 
a  country. 

Italy  served  to  drive  home  the  truths  which  Japan 
had  first  shown  him.  Three  years  after  his  experience 
there,  a  dingy,  second  -  hand  book  -  store  in  Florence 
had  placed  him  in  possession  of  Luigi  Cornaro's  Dis- 
corsi  delta  Vita  Sobria.  He  read  it  with  amazement. 
Here  in  his  hand,  written  by  a  Venetian  nobleman  more 

[38] 


THE     SPELL 


than  three  hundred  years  before,  at  the  age  of  eighty- 
three,  was  the  text-book  of  the  theories  of  life  which  he 
had  accepted  from  the  Japanese  as  new  and  untried 
except  among  this  alien  people!  It  gave  him  a  start, 
and  he  journeyed  to  Turin,  Berne,  Berlin,  Brussels, 
Paris,  London,  St.  Petersburg,  and  even  back  to  Boston, 
seeking  to  interest  the  famous  physiologists  in  his  dis 
covery,  which  he  believed  was  destined  to  exterminate 
disease  and  to  transform  those  practising  the  medical 
profession  into  hygienic  engineers. 

Mr.  Cartwright's  name  and  personality  preserved  him 
from  a  sanitarium,  but  his  theories  as  to  self-control, 
forethought,  and  fear-thought  received  ample  oppor 
tunity  for  personal  experiment.  He  was  as  tenacious 
as  if  his  future  depended  upon  the  outcome.  A  good- 
natured  indulgence  here,  and  an  incredulous  sympathy 
there,  gave  him  his  first  opportunities  for  demonstra 
tion.  He  not  only  drew  upon  his  fortune,  but  freely 
contributed  himself  as  a  subject  for  experiment.  It 
had  been  slow,  but  he  had  learned  patience  from  the 
Japanese.  Disbelief  gradually  changed  into  doubt, 
doubt  into  question,  question  into  half-belief,  and  half- 
belief  into  conviction.  Quietly,  surely,  his  own  faith 
was  assimilated  by  those  high  in  the  physiological  ranks, 
and  almost  against  their  will,  and  before  they  realized 
the  importance  of  their  concessions,  he  had  forced  them 
to  prove  him  right  by  their  own  analyses. 

The  last  five  years  had  been  a  steady  triumph.  He 
had  found  his  ideals,  but  he  had  not  attained  them.  He 
knew  what  his  life-work  was,  and  had  the  gratification 
of  counting  among  his  friends  and  collaborators  the 
highest  authorities  the  world  recognized.  The  habits 
of  generations  could  not  be  changed  in  a  moment — some 

[39] 


THE    SPELL 


of  them  could  never  be  changed;  but  the  ball  had  been 
started  and  was  gaining  in  size  with  each  revolution. 
It  no  longer  needed  his  gentle,  persuasive  push;  it  had 
its  own  momentum  now,  and  he  found  it  only  necessary 
to  guide  its  advance  and  to  watch  its  growth. 

Uncle  Peabody's  thoughts  reverted  to  his  work  as  he 
folded  Helen's  letter  and  placed  it  again  in  his  pocket, 
where  he  had  so  long  carried  it.  He  regretted  having 
his  labors  interrupted  just  now,  but  he  found  himself 
keenly  interested  to  watch  Helen's  approaching  evolu 
tion.  His  wagon  was  firmly  hitched  to  this  new  star, 
and  he  had  no  notion  of  changing  stars.  So,  with  a 
murmured  "  Bless  you,  my  children.  May  you  live  for 
ever,  and  may  I  come  to  your  funeral,"  he  sought  the 
repose  which  the  others  had  already  found. 


IV 


MARY  and  Bertha  Sinclair  were  just  completing  a 
year's  study  in  Florence,  upon  which  they  were 
depending  to  perfect  their  musical  education ;  but 
both  girls  were  sufficiently  homesick  after  their  two  years' 
absence  from  Boston  to  be  more  than  eager  to  exchange 
their  pension  for  a  week's  visit  with  Helen,  who  brought 
to  them  a  fresh  budget  of  home  news, — for  which  their 
eagerness  increased  as  the  date  for  their  return  to  Amer 
ica  drew  nearer.  Emory  and  Eustis,  too,  added  familiar 
faces,  so  the  days  following  the  first  dinner  at  the  villa 
proved  to  be  full  of  interest  and  enjoyment  to  all  con 
cerned. 

The  guests  became  familiar  with  each  portion  of  the 
house  and  grounds,  the  mysteries  of  Italian  house 
keeping  were  contrasted  with  the  limitations  of  board 
ing,  and  numerous  topics  of  common  import  succeeded 
each  other  without  surcease. 

During  the  morning  following  the  arrival  of  the 
guests,  Armstrong  touched  tentatively  upon  the  sub 
ject  of  visiting  the  library. 

"  We  went  there  when  we  first  came  to  Florence," 
Mary  Sinclair  replied ;  "  and  we  saw  everything  there 
was." 

Armstrong  smiled  indulgently,  thinking  of  the  little 
they  had  really  seen. 

[41] 


THE     SPELL 


"  You  know  we  are  not  very  literary,"  explained 
Bertha,  catching  the  expression  upon  his  face. 

"  They  are  really  more  hopeless  cases  even  than  I," 
Helen  added,  sympathetically. 

"  Why  don't  you  try  Phil  and  me?"  inquired  Emory. 
"  We  went  through  the  Vatican  library,  so  we  are  ex 
perts.  At  least  they  said  it  was  a  library.  The  only 
books  we  saw  there  were  a  few  in  show-cases — the  rest 
they  kept  out  of  sight." 

"  You  would  not  recognize  a  real  book  if  you  saw  it, 
Emory,"  Armstrong  replied,  with  resignation.  "  There 
is  no  hurry.  Perhaps  Miss  Thayer  will  go  with  me 
some  day  soon." 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  Inez  responded,  with  enthusiasm. 
"  There  is  nothing  I  wish  so  much  to  do." 

"  Good."  His  appreciation  was  sincere.  "  I  shall 
take  real  delight  in  introducing  to  you  my  old  -  time 
friends,  with  whom  I  often  differ  but  never  quarrel." 

"  Are  they  so  real  to  you  as  that  ?"  Inez  asked,  im 
pressed  by  his  tone. 

"  They  are  indeed,"  Armstrong  replied,  seriously. 
"  I  visit  and  talk  with  them  just  as  I  would  with  you 
all.  But  they  have  an  aggravating  advantage  over 
me,  for,  no  matter  how  laboriously  I  argue  with 
them,  their  original  statement  stands  unmoved  there 
upon  the  written  page,  as  if  enjoying  my  feeble  ef 
fort  to  disturb  its  serenity,  and  defying  me  to  do  my 
worst." 

"  I  would  much  prefer  to  give  them  an  absent  treat 
ment,"  asserted  Eustis. 

"  Inez  is  clearly  the  psychological  subject,"  Helen 
added.  "  At  school  she  was  forever  putting  us  girls  to 

shame  by  her  mortifying  familiarity  with  the  classics. 

[42] 


THE     SPELL 


It  is  only  fair  that  she  should  now  be  paid  in  her  own 
coin." 

"  I  accept  both  the  invitation  and  the  challenge,"  re 
plied  Inez,  bowing  to  her  hostess,  and,  walking  over  to 
the  low  wall  on  which  Helen  had  seated  herself,  she 
threw  her  arm  affectionately  about  her  neck.  "  But 
you  must  not  embarrass  me  with  such  praise,  or  your 
husband  will  suffer  a  keen  disappointment.  To  study 
Latin  and  Greek  out  of  school-books  is  one  thing;  to 
meet  face  to  face  the  personalities  one  has  regarded  as 
divinities — even  reading  their  very  handwriting — is  an 
other.  It  makes  one  wonder  if  she  ever  did  know  any 
thing  about  them  before." 

"  That  is  exactly  the  spirit  in  which  to  approach  the 
shrine,  Miss  Thayer!"  cried  Armstrong,  enthusiastically. 
"  Let  us  frame  a  new  beatitude :  '  Blessed  is  she  who  ap 
preciates  the  glories  of  antiquity,  for  she  shall  inherit 
the  riches  of  the  past.' ' 

The  contrast  of  the  two  girls  in  the  rich  Italian  morn 
ing  light  was  so  striking  that  Uncle  Peabody  paused 
in  his  approach  after  a  successful  attack  upon  the 
rose-bushes,  touched  Armstrong  upon  the  shoulder,  and 
nodded  admiringly  in  their  direction.  They  were  sepa 
rated  a  little  from  the  others,  and  were  busily  engaged 
in  a  conversation  of  their  own,  in  which  no  man  hath  a 
part,  quite  oblivious  to  the  attention  they  attracted. 
Inez  was  standing,  and,  even  though  seated,  Helen's 
superb  head  reached  quite  to  her  companion's  shoul 
der,  and  the  fair  hair  and  complexion  were  clearly 
defined  against  the  darker  hue  of  the  face  and  head 
bent  down  to  meet  her  own.  Her  eyes,  looking  out 
into  the  distance  even  as  she  spoke,  reflected  the  calm, 
satisfied  contentment  of  the  moment,  while  in  the  brown 

[43] 


THE     SPELL 


depths  of  the  other's  one  could  read  an  un  gratified  am 
bition,  an  uncertainty  not  yet  explained.  Inez  Thayer's 
face  was  attractive,  Helen's  was  beautiful — that  beauty 
which  one  feels  belongs  naturally  to  the  person  pos 
sessing  it  without  the  necessity  of  analysis. 

Armstrong  was  evidently  pleased  with  this  comparison, 
as  he  had  been  with  all  previous  ones.  Italy,  it  seemed 
to  him,  formed  just  the  background  to  set  off  to  best 
advantage  his  wife's  personal  attractions.  Uncle  Pea- 
body  smiled  contentedly  at  the  undisguised  satisfaction 
which  was  so  clearly  indicated  in  the  younger  man's 
face. 

"  If  there  had  been  any  girls  in  Boston  who  looked 
like  that  when  I  was  of  sparking  age,"  he  whispered  to 
Armstrong,  "  I  should  certainly  have  married  and  set 
tled  down,  as  I  ought  to  have  done." 

"  And  allowed  the  world  to  perish  of  indigestion  ?" 
queried  Armstrong,  smiling. 

"  Scoffer !  you  do  not  deserve  your  good  -  fortune. 
Come,  these  roses  are  becoming  all  thorns.  Young 
ladies,  may  I  intrude  upon  your  tcte-a-tcte  long  enough 
to  present  you  with  the  trophies  of  my  after-breakfast 
hunt?" 

"  A  thousand  apologies,  Uncle,"  cried  Helen,  taking 
the  roses  in  her  arms  and  burying  her  face  in  their 
fragrant  petals.  "  Oh !  how  beautiful !  And  how  idiotic 
ever  to  leave  this  Garden  of  Paradise  and  immure  your 
selves  within  that  musty  old  library.  Do  you  not  re 
pent?" 

"  I  place  the  decision  wholly  in  Miss  Thayer's  hands," 
said  Armstrong;  but  he  glanced  at  Inez  with  evident  ex 
pectancy. 

"  Then   I  decide  to  go,"   replied  the   girl.      "  I  am 

[441 


THE    SPELL 


quite  impatient  to  meet  the  friends  in  whose  good  com 
pany  Mr.  Armstrong  revelled  before  his  present  rein 
carnation." 

"  When?"  asked  Armstrong,  quickly. 

"  Now !" 

"  Splendid !    I  will  order  the  carriage  at  once." 

"  There  is  rapid  transit  for  }'ou !"  exclaimed  Eustis. 
"  Jack  believes  in  striking  while  the  iron  is  hot." 

"  What  a  narrow  escape  we  have  had,"  murmured 
Mary  Sinclair,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Helen,  resignedly.  "  It  may  be 
just  as  well  to  have  it  over.  Jack  has  been  looking  for 
ward  to  this  ever  since  he  turned  his  face  toward  Flor 
ence,  and  he  will  be  quite  miserable  until  he  has  actually 
gratified  his  anticipation. — But  don't  be  away  long,  will 
you,  Jack?" 

"  Miss  Thayer  will  very  likely  find  the  staid  com 
pany  which  we  plan  to  keep  quite  as  stupid  as  the  rest 
of  you  anticipate,"  replied  Armstrong,  "  so  we  may  be 
home  sooner  than  you  expect." 

Inez  had  already  disappeared  in-doors  to  put  on  her 
hat,  and  Armstrong  started  out  to  call  a  carriage. 
Helen  intercepted  him  as  he  crossed  the  veranda. 

"  You  won't  mind  if  I  don't  go  with  you  to-day,  will 
you,  Jack?  If  it  were  just  to  see  the  treasures  at  the 
library  I  would  urge  them  all  to  go;  but  I  know  what 
is  in  your  mind,  dear.  Truty,  I  will  go  with  you  some 
time,  and  you  shall  try  your  experiment  upon  me;  but 
I  am  not  in  the  mood  for  it  just  now.  I  ought  not  to 
leave  the  others,  anyway." 

"  It  is  all  right,  of  course,"  he  answered.  "  I  wish 
you  did  feel  like  going,  but  your  substitute  seems  to  be 
enthusiastic  enough  to  make  up  for  your  antipathy." 

[45] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Don't  call  it  that,"  Helen  answered,  half-reproach- 
f  ully ;  "  it  is  simply  that  I  am  ashamed  to  have  my  igno 
rance  exposed, — and  it  will  give  you  such  a  splendid 
chance  really  to  know  Inez.  Now  run  along  and  have  a 
good  time,  and  tell  me  all  about  it  when  you  come  home." 

The  little  one-horse  victoria  soon  left  the  villa  be 
hind,  and  was  well  along  on  the  narrow  descending  road 
before  either  of  its  occupants  broke  the  silence.  As 
if  by  mutual  consent,  each  was  thinking  what  neither 
would  have  spoken  aloud.  Helen  had  not  seen  the  ex 
pression  of  disappointment  which  passed  over  her  hus 
band's  face  as  she  spoke.  He  would  have  given  much 
if  it  might  have  been  his  wife  beside  him.  He  had 
studied  the  girl  carefully,  and  had  found  in  her  an  in 
tuitive  sympathy  with  the  very  subjects  concerning 
which  she  disclaimed  all  knowledge.  At  first  he  had 
thought  that  she  exaggerated  her  limitations  because 
of  his  deeper  study,  but  he  soon  discovered  her  abso 
lute  sincerity.  It  was  a  lack  of  confidence  in  herself, 
he  inwardly  explained,  and  when  once  in  Florence  he 
would  give  her  that  confidence  which  was  the  only  ele 
ment  lacking  to  her  complete  understanding.  But  as 
yet  he  had  been  unable  to  get  her  inside  the  library,  or 
even  within  range  of  the  necessary  atmosphere. 

Inez  Thaycr's  thoughts  were  upon  the  same  subject, 
but  from  a  different  standpoint.  Her  last  words  to 
Helen,  Avhen  Uncle  Peabody  had  interrupted  their  con 
versation,  framed  a  mild  reproach.  "  If  I  had  won  a 
man  like  Jack  Armstrong,"  Inez  whispered  to  her,  "  I 
would  not  allow  any  one,  not  even  you,  to  take  my  place 
on  an  excursion  such  as  this,  upon  which  he  has  so  set 
his  whole  heart." 

[46] 


THE     SPELL 


"  You  are  a  sweet  little  harmonizer,  Inez,"  Helen  had 
answered,  smilingly,  "  but  you  are  a  silly  child  none  the 
less.  Jack  and  I  understand  each  other  perfectly.  He 
knows  my  limitations,  and,  if  I  went,  I  should  only 
spoil  his  full  enjoyment.  You  will  understand  it  and 
revel  in  it.  and  he  will  be  supremely  happy.  If  you  were 
not  so  much  better  fitted  naturally  for  this  sort  of  thing, 
of  course  I  should  go  rather  than  disappoint  him,  but, 
truly,  the  arrangement  is  much  better  as  it  is." 

Inez  had  no  opportunity  to  continue  the  conversation, 
but  Helen  had  not  convinced  her.  Hers  was  an  intense 
nature,  and  she  had  much  more  of  the  romantic  in  her 
soul  than  her  best  friends  gave  her  credit  for.  Her  one 
serious  love-affair  had  proved  only  an  annoyance  and 
mortification.  Ferdinand  De  Peyster  was  in  many  ways 
a  desirable  parti,  as  mammas  with  marriageable  daugh 
ters  were  quite  aware.  He  was  possessed  of  a  handsome 
competency,  was  not  inconvenienced  by  business  respon 
sibilities,  and  his  devotion  to  Inez  Thayer  was  only  whet 
ted  to  a  greater  degree  of  constancy  by  the  opposition 
it  received  from  its  particular  object.  He  was  not  lack 
ing  in  education,  having  spent  four  years  in  the  fresh 
man  class  at  Harvard ;  he  was  not  unattractive,  in  his 
own  individual  way,  and  his  one  great  desire,  not  even 
second  to  his  striving  for  blue  ribbons  with  his  fine  stable 
of  blooded  horses,  was  to  have  her  accept  the  position  of 
head  of  his  household. 

But  Inez  was  repelled  by  the  very  subserviency  of  his 
devotion.  Her  love  rested  heavily  upon  respect,  and 
this  could  be  won  only  by  a  man  who  commanded  it. 
John  Armstrong  fulfilled  her  ideal,  and  she  wondered 
why  Fate  had  not  fashioned  the  man  whom  she  had 
attracted  in  a  similar  mould. 

[47] 


THE    SPELL 


Armstrong  looked  up  from  his  reverie  half  guiltily, 
and  for  a  moment  his  eyes  met  those  of  his  companion 
squarely.  Inez  could  not  match  the  frank  glance — it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  he  must  have  read  her  thoughts ; 
but  the  heartiness  of  his  words  relieved  her  apprehen 
sion. 

"  What  a  bore  you  must  think  me,  Miss  Thayer !  I 
have  not  spoken  a  word  since  we  left  the  house." 

"  I  must  assume  my  share  of  responsibility  for  the 
silence,"  Inez  replied,  regaining  her  composure.  "  The 
seriousness  of  our  quest  must  have  had  a  sobering  effect 
upon  us  both." 

"  But  you  won't  find  these  old  fellows  so  serious  as 
you  think,"  Armstrong  hastened  to  say.  "  They  were 
humanists  and  products  of  the  movement  which  marked 
the  breaking  away  from  the  ascetic  severity  preceding 
them.  But,  after  all,  they  were  the  first  to  realize  that 
life  could  be  even  better  worth  living  if  it  contained 
beauty  and  happiness." 

"  You  see  how  little  I  know  about  them,  in  spite  of 
Helen's  attempt  to  place  me  on  a  pedestal." 

"  Why,  if  it  had  not  been  for  their  work,"  he  con 
tinued,  enthusiastically,  "  the  classics  might  still  have 
remained  as  dead  to  us  as  they  were  to  those  who  lived 
in  the  thirteenth  century.  Instead  of  studying  Virgil 
and  Homer,  we  should  have  been  brought  up  on  theo 
logical  literature  and  the  '  Holy  Fathers.' ' 

"  I  feel  just  as  I  did  at  my  coming-out  party,"  Inez 
replied  —  "  that  same  feeling  of  awe  and  uncertainty. 
I  am  eager  to  go  with  you,  yet  I  dread  it  somehow.  It 
is  not  a  presentiment  exactly, — it  is — 

"  I  know  just  what  you  mean,"  Armstrong  inter 
rupted,  sympathetically  ;  "  and,  if  you  feel  like  that  now, 

[48] 


THE    SPELL 


just  wait  until  you  see  old  Cerini,  the  librarian.  It  is 
he  who  is  responsible  for  my  passion  for  this  sort  of 
thing.  Why,  I  remember,  when  I  was  here  years  ago 
and  used  to  run  in  to  see  him  at  the  Laurenziana,  I 
never  regarded  him  as  a  mortal  at  all;  and  I  don't  be 
lieve  my  reverence  and  veneration  for  the  old  man  have 
abated  a  whit  in  the  twelve  years  gone  by." 

The  light  vehicle  had  passed  through  the  Porta  alia 
Croce,  and  was  swaying  from  side  to  side  like  a  ship 
at  sea,  rattling  over  the  stones  of  the  narrow  city 
streets  at  such  a  rate  that  conversation  was  no  longer 
a  pleasure. 

"  Just  why  Florentine  cabmen  are  content  to  drive 
at  a  snail's  pace  on  a  good  road  and  feel  impelled  to 
rush  at  breakneck  speed  over  bad  ones  is  a  phase  of 
Italian  character  explained  neither  by  Baedeker  nor  by 
Hare,"  remarked  Armstrong,  leaning  nearer  to  Inez  to 
make  himself  heard. 

With  a  loud  snap  of  his  whip  and  a  guttural  "  Whee- 
oop,"  the  cocchiere  rounded  the  statue  of  John  of  the 
Black  Bands,  just  missed  the  ancient  book  -  stand  im 
mortalized  by  Browning  in  the  Ring  and  the  Book, 
and  came  to  a  sudden  stop  before  the  unpretentious  en 
trance  to  the  Biblioteca  Laurenziana. 

"  You  have  been  here  before,  of  course?"  he  asked  his 
companion  as  they  passed  through  the  wicket-gate  into 
the  ancient  cloisters  of  San  Lorenzo. 

"  Once,  with  Baedeker  to  tell  me  to  go  on,  and  with 
the  tall  Italian  custodian  to  stop  me  when  I  reached  the 
red  velvet  rope  stretched  across  the  room,  which  I  sup 
pose  marks  the  Dante  division  between  Purgatory  and 
Paradise." 

"  This  time  you  shall  not  only  enter  Paradise,  but 
*  [49] 


THE     SPELL 


you    shall   behold   the   Beatific   Vision,"    laughed   Arm 
strong. 

Passing  by  the  main  entrance  of  the  library  at  the 
head  of  the  stone  stairs,  Armstrong  led  the  way 
along  the  upper  cloister  to  a  small  door,  where  he  press 
ed  a  little  electric  button — an  accessory  not  included 
in  Michelangelo's  original  plans  for  the  building.  A 
moment  later  they  heard  the  sound  of  descending  foot 
steps,  and  presently  a  bearded  face  looked  out  at  them 
through  the  small  grated  window.  The  inspection  was 
evidently  satisfactory,  for  the  heavy  iron  bar  on  the 
inside  was  released  and  the  door  opened. 

"  Good-morning,  Maritelli,"  said  Armstrong  in  Ital 
ian.  "  Is  the  direttore  disengaged?" 

"  He  is  in  his  study,  signore,  awaiting  your  ar 
rival." 

Maritelli  dropped  the  iron  bar  back  into  place  with 
a  loud  clang  and  then  led  the  way  up  the  short  flight 
of  stone  steps  to  the  librarian's  study.  Armstrong  de 
tained  Inez  a  moment  at  the  top. 

"  I  brought  you  in  this  way  because  I  want  you  to 
see  Cerini  in  his  frame.  It  is  a  picture  worthy  the 
brush  of  an  old  master." 

Maritelli  knocked  gently  on  the  door  and  placed  his 
ear  against  it  to  hear  the  response.  Then  he  opened 
it  quietly  and  bowed  as  Armstrong  and  his  companion 
entered. 

"  Buon'  giorno,  padre."  Armstrong  gravely  saluted 
the  old  man  as  he  looked  up.  "  I  have  brought  to  you 
another  seeker  after  the  gold  in  your  treasure-house." 

Cerini's  face  showed  genuine  delight  as  he  rose  and 
extended  both  hands  to  Inez.  "  Your  wife !"  he  ex 
claimed  ;  "  I  am  glad  indeed  to  greet  her." 

[50] 


THE     SPELL 


Armstrong  flushed.  "  No,  padre,  not  my  wife,  but 
her  dearest  friend,  Miss  Thayer." 

The  old  man  let  one  arm  fall  to  his  side  with  visible 
disappointment,  which  he  vainly  sought  to  conceal. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  simply,  taking  Inez'  hand 
in  his  own.  "  I  have  known  this  dear  friend  for  many 
years,  and  have  loved  him  for  the  love  he  gave  to  my 
work.  I  had  hoped  to  greet  his  wife  here,  and  to  find 
that  the  literce  humaniores  were  to  her  the  elixir  of  life 
that  they  are  to  me — and  to  him." 

"  When  I  tell  her  of  my  visit  she  will  be  eager  to  come 
to  you  as  I  have,"  said  Inez,  strangely  touched  by  the 
keenness  of  his  disappointment.  "  To-day  she  could  not 
leave  her  guests." 

"  Will  you  first  show  Miss  Thaycr  the  illuminations 
and  the  rarest  of  the  incunabula?"  asked  Armstrong, 
eager  to  change  the  subject;  "and  then  will  you  let 
us  come  back  here  to  talk  with  you?" 

"  With  pleasure,  my  son,  with  pleasure.  What  shall 
I  show  her  first?" 

"  That  little  '  Book  of  Hours '  illuminated  by  Fran 
cesco  d'Antonio,  padre." 

Cerini  pulled  up  the  great  bunch  of  keys  suspended 
from  the  end  of  his  girdle  and  unlocked  one  of  the 
drawers  in  the  ancient  wooden  desk  in  front  of  him. 

"  I  always  wonder  how  you  dare  keep  so  priceless  a 
treasure  in  that  desk,  and  why  it  is  not  put  on  exhibi 
tion  where  visitors  may  see  it,"  Armstrong  queried. 

Cerini  laughed  quietly.  "  There  are  many  other 
treasures,  my  son,  equally  precious,  as  you  know  well, 
scattered  about  in  these  desks  and  drawers,  where  I  alone 
can  find  them." 

"  How  dare  you  take  the  risk  ?" 
[51] 


THE    SPELL 


Cerini's  face  showed  a  gentle  craftiness.  "  We  are  in 
Italy,  my  son.  If  any  one  could  find  these  gems,  any  one 
could  be  librarian  " — and  the  old  man  chuckled  quietly 
to  himself. 

Inez'  eyes  were  fastened  upon  a  little  purple  velvet 
case  inlaid  with  jewels.  Cerini  opened  it  carefully,  ex 
posing  a  small  volume  similarly  bound  and  similarly 
adorned.  Armstrong  eagerly  watched  the  interest  in 
the  girl's  face  as  the  full  splendor  of  the  masterpiece  im 
pressed  itself  upon  her — the  marvellous  delicacy  of  de 
sign,  the  gorgeousness  of  color,  the  magnificence  of  the 
decoration  and  the  miniatures.  Inez  drew  in  her  breath 
excitedly  and  bent  nearer  to  the  magnifying-glass  which 
it  was  necessary  to  use  in  tracing  the  intricacy  of  the 
work. 

"  Wonderful !"  she  cried,  and  then  was  silent. 

"  It  belonged  to  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent,  and  repre 
sents  the  finest  of  the  quattrocento  work,  my  daughter," 
explained  the  old  man,  pleased  as  was  Armstrong  by  her 
unfeigned  admiration.  "  The  patrons  of  the  book  in 
the  fifteenth  century  considered  gems  of  thought  as  the 
most  precious  of  all  jewels.  The  page  containing  them 
must  be  written  upon  the  finest  and  the  rarest  parch 
ment.  They  could  not  inlay  costly  stones,  so  they  em 
ployed  the  most  famous  artists  to  place  upon  the  page 
in  beaten  gold  and  gorgeous  colors  a  representation  of 
the  jewels  and  miniatures  as  perfect  as  art  at  its  high 
est  could  produce.  Can  you  wonder,  my  daughter,  that 
men  brought  up  in  the  school  of  neo-Platonism  should 
look  upon  the  invention  of  printing  as  an  evil  and  an 
innovation  to  be  opposed?" 

Inez  would  not  permit  Cerini  to  close  the  volume  un 
til  she  had  feasted  her  eyes  upon  every  page. 

[52] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Have  you  not  prepared  me  for  an  anti-climax?" 
she  asked,  with  a  sigh,  as  Armstrong  suggested  a  visit 
to  the  room  of  illuminations.  "  Surely  there  is  nothing 
else  here  to  surpass  what  I  have  just  seen." 

The  librarian  answered.  "  Nothing  to  surpass  it, 
truly,  but  other  volumes  equally  interesting." 

The  old  man  led  them  into  a  larger  room  filled  with 
wooden  cases  whose  glass  tops  were  covered  with  faded 
green  curtains.  Costly  tapestries  lined  the  walls,  but 
Inez'  attention  was  quickly  taken  from  them  as  Cerini 
pulled  aside  the  curtains  and  disclosed  the  resplendent 
wealth  beneath.  Heavy  choir-books,  classic  manuscripts, 
books  of  hours,  breviaries  embellished  by  Lorenzo  Mona 
co,  master  of  Fra  Angelico,  by  Benozzo  Gozzoli,  whose 
frescos  still  make  the  Riccardi  famous,  and  other  ar 
tists  whose  names  have  long  since  been  forgotten,  but 
whose  work  remains  as  an  everlasting  monument  to  a 
departed  art.  Magnificent  examples  of  every  school, 
from  the  early  Byzantine  to  the  decadent  style  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  combined  to  teach  the  present  the  om 
nipotence  of  the  past. 

From  case  to  case  they  passed,  their  guide  indicat 
ing  the  variations  and  the  significance  of  the  different 
schools,  out  into  the  great  library  itself,  in  which,  with 
its  noble  yet  simple  proportions  as  laid  down  by  Michel 
angelo,  Inez  found  a  relief  after  the  gorgeousness  and 
grandeur  of  the  last  hour.  Armstrong  pointed  out  to 
her  the  plutei  upon  which  the  great  books  rested,  and  to 
which  they  now  remained  chained  as  in  the  olden  days, 
four  centuries  back,  when  they  began  their  eternal  vigil. 
Life  outside  the  old  walls  had  changed  mightily  since 
Cosimo  de'  Medici,  the  first  grand  -  duke,  laid  their 
foundations.  Cosimo,  "  pater  patrice,"  the  real  founder 

[53] 


THE     SPELL 


of  the  collection,  Pietro  and  Giovanni  de'  Medici  had 
come  and  gone;  Lorenzo  il  Magnifico  had  lived  and 
died,  bequeathing  to  them  his  illustrious  name;  Charles 
VIII.  of  France  had  destroyed  the  power  of  the  house 
of  the  Medici,  the  Medici  had  again  regained  their  own, 
the  house  of  Lorraine  had  succeeded  them,  the  separate 
states  had  been  merged  into  a  great  kingdom — and  still 
the  volumes  held  their  places  at  the  end  of  their  chains, 
as  if  to  prove  the  immutability  of  learning  as  compared 
with  the  changeability  of  princes. 

At  Armstrong's  suggestion,  Cerini  led  them  back  into 
his  study,  where  the  old  man  again  took  his  place  at 
his  desk,  as  his  visitors  seated  themselves  where  they 
could  best  watch  him  and  listen  to  his  words.  It  was, 
indeed,  as  Armstrong  had  expressed  it,  a  picture  for  an 
old  master.  Cerini  Avas  clad  in  the  black  silk  soutane  of 
his  learned  order,  with  the  birctta  upon  his  head.  He 
was  spare,  and  the  skin  upon  his  face  and  hands  was  as 
dried  and  colored  as  the  ancient  parchment  of  the  books 
with  which  he  lived.  The  dim  light  coming  through 
the  stained-glass  window  enhanced  the  weirdness  of  his 
aspect,  and  as  one  looked  he  seemed  the  personification 
of  the  ancient  written  manuscript  vivified  and  speak 
ing  the  words  which  one  would  have  expected  to  read 
upon  the  page. 

"  My  daughter,"  he  was  sajnng  to  Inez,  "  you,  too, 
are  a  humanist,  as  my  young  friend  and  I  are,  or  you 
could  not  manifest  so  true  an  understanding  as  you  do. 
For  humanism,  my  daughter,  is  not  only  the  love  of  an 
tiquity  :  it  is  the  worship  of  it — a  worship  carried  so 
far  that  it  is  not  limited  to  adoration  alone,  but  which 
forces  one  to  reproduce.  By  the  same  token  the  human 
ist  is  the  man  who  not  only  knows  intimately  the  an- 

[54] 


SLOWLY  THE  SPELL  BEGAN  TO  WORK  UPON  INEZ' 
BRAIN.  SHE  WAS  NO  LONGER  IN  THE  PRESENT  — SHE 
WAS  A  WOMAN  OF  ITALY  OF  FOUR  CENTURIES  BACK 


THE    SPELL 


cients  and  is  inspired  by  them:  it  is  he  who  is  so  fasci 
nated  by  their  magic  spell  that  he  copies  them,  imitates 
them,  rehearses  their  lessons,  adopts  their  models  and 
their  methods,  their  examples  and  their  gods,  their  spirit 
and  their  tongue." 

Then  Cerini  passed  on  in  his  conversation  to  the  old- 
time  writers  themselves.  The  little  study  was  poorly 
ventilated,  and  the  air  was  heavy.  The  ancient  tomes 
exuded  their  peculiar  odor,  and  the  low,  sing-song  voice 
of  the  speaker  seemed  far  removed  from  the  life  they 
had  just  left  outside.  Slowly  the  spell  began  to  work 
upon  Inez'  brain.  She  was  no  longer  in  the  present 
— she  was  a  woman  of  Italy  of  four  centuries  back. 
Petrarch,  with  his  laurel-crowned  head,  rose  up  before 
her  and  recited  verses  written  for  Laura;  Politian  gave 
to  her  of  his  wisdom ;  Machiavelli  discussed  Florentine 
politics  with  her.  It  was  not  the  voice  of  Cerini  the 
librarian  which  she  heard  —  it  was  the  veritable  voice 
from  the  dead  and  buried  past.  She  furtively  glanced 
at  Armstrong  and  saw  in  his  face  a  light  which  she 
knew  Helen  had  never  seen  there,  and  in  her  heart  she 
felt  a  guilty  joyousness  at  the  advantage  she  had  gained. 
It  was  Leonardo  sitting  at  the  old  desk  now — Leonardo 
the  master  of  art,  of  sculpture,  the  forerunner,  the  man- 
god  against  the  god-man.  She  pressed  her  hand  to  her 
head;  it  was  dripping  moisture.  Would  he  never  stop? 
It  was  becoming  fearsome,  unbearable.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  aged  priestly  clad  figure  before  her; 
she  could  not  move  them.  What  power  held  her,  what 
magic  controlled  even  her  thoughts?  She  tried  to  speak 
to  Armstrong,  to  tell  him  that  she  was  ill,  but  her  mouth 
seemed  parched  and  she  could  not  speak.  She  looked 
at  Cerini's  chair  again.  The  old  man  was  no  longer 

[55] 


THE    SPELL 


there.  Machiavclli  had  taken  his  place  and  was  uttering 
diatribes  against  the  state.  She  must  cry  out — she  could 
not.  She  started  to  her  feet — then  she  fell  back,  and 
all  became  a  blank.  When  she  revived,  a  few  moments 
later,  it  was  in  the  sunny  enclosure  of  the  cloister  gar 
den,  whither  Armstrong  had  anxiously  carried  her,  and 
where  the  fresh  air  served  to  relieve  the  tension  and  to 
counteract  the  influence  which  had  so  overpowered  her. 


BY  mutual  consent,  Miss  Thayer  and  Armstrong 
decided  not  to  mention  the  rather  dramatic  finale 
to  their  first  excursion  to  the  library.  Inez  experi 
enced  the  deepest  mortification,  while  Jack  blamed  him 
self  severely  that  he  had  not  watched  his  companion 
more  carefully.  If  he  had  done  this,  he  repeated  to  him 
self,  he  might  easily  have  anticipated  and  avoided  the 
unpleasant  climax  to  an  otherwise  thoroughly  enjoyable 
morning.  Miss  Thayer,  however,  would  not  listen  to  his 
apologies :  he  had  accepted  her  as  a  comrade,  and  she 
had  proved  herself  unequal  to  the  test.  Armstrong 
tried  to  reassure  her,  but  his  efforts  were  not  eminently 
successful. 

The  whole  affair,  in  spite  of  their  disclaimers,  made  a 
considerable  impression  upon  them  both.  Armstrong 
knew  that  it  had  not  been  weakness  alone ;  for  even  his 
brief  acquaintance  with  her  told  him  that  strength  was 
a  salient  point  in  her  character.  She  was  impression 
able — he  realized  that — but  surely  not  to  the  extent  of 
losing  all  control  over  herself.  Was  it — and  Armstrong 
feared  lest  Inez  should  read  his  mind  as  the  thought 
came  to  him — was  it  that  same  irresistible  influence  of 
those  ancient  spirits,  coming  out  from  the  past  to  her 
as  they  had  so  many  times  to  him,  recognizing  her  as  a 
reincarnation  of  themselves,  and  claiming  her,  even  for 

[57] 


THE     SPELL 


that  brief  moment  of  unconsciousness,  as  a  part  of  what 
had  gone  before? 

Inez  pleaded  a  headache  upon  reaching  the  villa, 
and  asked  that  her  lunch  be  sent  to  her  room;  but 
it  was  long  after  Annetta  had  left  the  tray  upon 
the  table  that  she  was  able  to  taste,  even  sparingly, 
the  tempting  delicacies  which  were  placed  before  her. 
What  can  be  more  searching  than  a  woman's  self-ex 
amination?  She  had  told  Armstrong  that  she  blamed 
herself  for  her  weakness ;  so  she  did,  but  it  was  not 
wholly  the  weakness  of  losing  consciousness.  Who  was 
this  man,  and  what  this  influence  which  had  so  suddenly 
entered  into  her  life  and  assumed  such  immediate  con 
trol  over  her?  She  felt  that  she  could  resist  either  sepa 
rately,  but  together  they  produced  a  power  which  she 
questioned  her  ability  to  oppose.  And  the  strange  part 
of  it  all  was  that  no  one  was  forcing  it  upon  her.  She 
knew  perfectly  well  that  she  need  never  go  to  the  library 
again  unless  she  chose ;  but  she  knew  equally  well  what 
her  choice  must  inevitably  be,  if  the  opportunity  were 
offered  her. 

Even  as  she  recalled  her  experience,  a  thrill  half  of 
delight,  half  of  apprehension,  passed  over  her.  What 
did  it  all  mean?  Armstrong  compelled  her  respect,  but 
it  was  ridiculous  even  to  wonder  whether  or  not  the 
sentiments  he  inspired  were  of  a  more  serious  nature. 
The  subjects  in  which  he  was  interested  appealed  to  her 
highest  self  and  fascinated  her,  but  beyond  this  what 
possible  force  could  they  possess  to  render  her  so  im 
mediately  subservient  to  their  demands?  What  was 
there  about  it  all  which  made  it  seem  so  inexpressively 
delicious?  And  what  of  him,  of  this  man  above  whose 
head  the  ancients  had  already  placed  the  halo  of  their 

[58] 


THE     SPELL 


approval,  who  stood  to  her  as  the  personification  of  ideal 
manhood  ? 

These  were  some  of  the  questions  Inez  Thayer  asked 
herself  that  afternoon,  wrestling  within  and  striving 
honestly  to  decide  her  course ;  but  even  as  she  did  so 
she  found  her  thoughts  again  centering  themselves  upon 
Armstrong  as  she  closed  her  eyes  and  allowed  herself 
to  be  carried  back  to  the  experiences  of  the  morning. 
She  had  no  reasonable  excuse  to  leave  Florence,  which 
instinctively  she  felt  to  be  the  safest  thing  to  do;  and, 
besides  this,  her  spirit  revolted  at  the  thought  that  she 
could  not  meet  the  problem  face  to  face  and  master  it. 
She  must  do  it,  she  would  do  it ;  and,  having  finally  ar 
rived  at  this  determination,  she  came  down,  just  before 
dinner,  and  joined  her  friends  in  the  garden,  where 
they  were  enjoying  the  soft  close  of  the  perfect  Italian 
day. 

"  There  you  are !"  Helen  welcomed  her  with  out 
stretched  arms.  "  Is  your  headache  better?" 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  Inez  replied,  forcing  a  smile ; 
"  the  air  was  very  close  in  the  library,  and  then,  too,  I 
found  so  much  to  make  me  thoughtful." 

"  Then  you  were  not  disappointed?"  Emory  asked. 

"  Disappointed  ?  It  was  wonderful.  You  don't  know 
how  much  you  all  missed." 

"  You  look  as  if  Jack  had  shown  you  some  spooks," 
remarked  Eustis ;  "  you  are  as  white  as  one  yourself." 

The  color  quickly  returned  to  Inez'  face.  "  I  am 
always  like  that  when  I  have  one  of  these  wretched  head 
aches,"  she  explained.  "  But.  truly,  I  never  had  such 
a  remarkable  experience.  I  can  quite  understand  Mr. 
Armstrong's  devotion.  I  never  knew  before  how  fasci 
nating  such  learning  really  is." 

[591 


THE    SPELL 


"  Did  he  actually  conjure  up  those  old  fellows  and  put 
them  through  their  paces  for  you?"  Emory  asked. 

Miss  Thayer  was  in  no  mood  for  bantering.  "  It  is 
not  possible  for  you  to  understand  without  experiencing 
it  yourself,"  she  said,  quietly. 

"  Or  even  afterward,  I  suspect,"  Bertha  Sinclair 
added,  slyly. 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  you  enjoyed  it,"  said  Helen.  "  I 
couldn't  get  much  out  of  Jack,  and  I  was  afraid  that 
you  had  passed  a  stupid  morning  and  that  the  headache 
was  the  natural  result." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  it — never !"  Inez  murmured. 

Helen  regarded  her  attentively  for  a  moment.  "  I 
had  no  idea  it  would  make  so  strong  an  impression  on 
you,"  she  said  at  length.  "  Now  that  it  is  over,  you  and 
Jack  will  both  feel  better  satisfied." 

"  You  must  see  Cerini,  Helen,  and  let  him  show  you 
those  wonderful  books  and  explain  everything,  just  as 
he  did  to  us." 

"  So  I  will,  sometime,"  Helen  smiled.  "  Perhaps  he 
could  bring  out  my  dormant  possibilities." 

"  It  is  time  we  dressed  for  dinner,"  remarked  Mary 
Sinclair,  rising.  "  You  and  Inez  are  already  en  grande 
tenue,  but  the  rest  of  us  are  shockingly  unconventional." 

As  the  Sinclair  girls  hurried  into  the  house,  closely 
followed  by  the  men,  Helen  leaned  against  the  balustrade 
at  the  end  of  the  bowling-green  and  watched  the  deep 
ening  color  which  touched  alike  the  spires  of  Santa 
Croce  and  the  turret  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  gleamed 
on  the  dome  of  the  Cathedral  and  Giotto's  tower,  and 
spread  like  wine  over  the  placid  surface  of  the  Arno. 
Beyond  the  river  rose  the  basilica  of  San  Miniato,  its 
ancient  pediment  sharply  outlined  against  the  sky. 

'[60] 


THE     SPELL 


Helen's  thoughts  wandered  even  farther  away  than  her 
eyes.  Inez  watched  her  for  several  moments  before  slip 
ping  her  arm  about  her  waist. 

"  Oh,  Inez !"  Helen  was  startled  for  an  instant. 
"Did  you  ever  see  such  a  wonderful  spot  as  this?" 
she  continued,  recovering  herself.  "  Some  new  beauty 
discloses  itself  uninvited  hour  by  hour.  Every  time  I 
come  into  the  garden  I  find  some  lovely  flower  I  never 
saw  before,  or  meet  some  sweet  odor  which  makes  me 
shut  my  eyes  and  just  draw  it  in  with  delight.  Each 
time  I  look  toward  Florence  the  view  is  different,  and 
each  new  view  more  beautiful  than  the  last.  Oh,  Inez 
darling,  is  it  an  enchanted  palace  that  Jack  has  brought 
me  to,  or  is  it  just  because  I  am  so  blissfully,  supremely, 
foolishly  happy?"  Helen  embraced  her  friend  enthusi 
astically. 

"  Let  us  call  it  the  enchanted  palace,  dear,"  Inez 
answered  as  Helen  released  her,  "  and  you  the  modern 
Circe,  with  power  to  make  all  about  you  as  beautiful 
and  as  happy  as  the  ancient  Circe  to  cast  malign  in 
fluences." 

Helen  laughed.  "  Why  not  take  it  further  and  say 
that  the  transformation  of  the  ancient  Circe  is  the  final 
triumph  of  Uncle  Peabody's  labors?  Had  his  theories 
been  in  force  among  the  friends  of  Ulysses,  the  fair 
lady  could  never  have  turned  them  into  swine.  But 
tell  me,  did  you  not  find  Jack  a  very  different  person 
from  what  you  had  expected  after  seeing  him  here  at 
home?" 

"  I  did,  indeed,"  assented  Inez,  soberly. 

"  Is  he  not  simply  splendid?"  Helen's  face  beamed 
with  pride.  "  It  was  just  as  much  of  a  surprise  to  me. 
Of  course,  I  have  always  known  that  he  was  interested 

[61] 


THE     SPELL 


in  all  these  things,  but  it  has  only  been  since  we  were 
married  that  I  have  realized  how  much  he  actually 
knows. — I  wish  I  thought  there  was  even  the  slightest 
chance  of  his  being  able  to  lead  me  up  to  his  heights, 
he  is  so  eager  for  it.  I  shall  give  him  an  oppor 
tunity  to  try  his  experiment,  of  course,  but  the 
trouble  is  that  in  spite  of  the  interest  and  fascination 
which  I  do  feel,  his  hobby  always  seems  to  me  to  be 
hemmed  in  with  needless  limitations.  For  my  part,  I 
don't  see  why  we  can't  take  the  best  these  master  spirits 
of  the  past  can  give  us,  just  as  Jack  says,  but  without 
ourselves  becoming  a  part  of  the  past. — You  see  how 
absolutely  hopeless  I  am.  I  wonder  how  in  the  world  he 
ever  came  to  be  attracted  to  me." 

"  You  are  the  only  one  who  wonders." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that  my  hair  is  not  red,  and  that  I 
don't  squint,  and  all  that,  but  Jack  is  so  fascinated  by 
everything  scholarly  that  I  don't  see  why  he  didn't 
select  an  intellectual  wife.  Why,  I  don't  even  wear 
glasses !" 

Inez  smiled  at  the  picture  Helen  drew.  "  The  rest 
of  us  girls  understand  why  he  made  just  the  selection 
he  did,  Helen." 

"  I  never  wanted  to  be  intellectual  before.  Until  now 
I  have  always  considered  the  caricatures  of  the  Boston 
Browning  woman  as  typical  of  the  highly  educated 
species ;  but  you  are  showing  me  that  a  girl  can  be  hu 
man  and  intellectual  at  the  same  time." 

"  I  wish  I  could  show  you  that  you  make  too  much 
of  a  mountain  out  of  this  intellectual  bugbear,"  Inez 
replied,  candidly.  "  Your  husband  is  a  very  unusual 
man.  His  interest  in  the  humanities  is  beyond  anything 
one  can  appreciate  without  seeing  him  as  I  saw  him  this 

[62] 


THE    SPELL 


morning.  He  longs  to  take  you  with  him  into  this  life, 
and  if  I  were  in  your  place  I  should  let  him  be  the  one 
to  discover  my  lack  of  understanding,  if  I  really  did 
lack  it,  instead  of  insisting  upon  it  as  a  foregone  con 
clusion.  For  myself,  I  don't  take  much  stock  in  it.  I 
remember  too  well  how  quick  a  certain  Miss  Cartwright 
was  at  school  to  grasp  new  ideas,  and  I  have  not  noticed 
any  serious  retrogression  since." 

Helen  pondered  carefully  over  her  friend's  criticism 
before  replying.  "  I  suppose  it  does  seem  like  ob 
stinacy,"  she  said,  finally — "  to  him  as  well  as  to  you ; 
yet  to  myself  it  appears  perfectly  consistent.  The  one 
thing  which  gives  me  an  idea  of  the  extent  of  his  de 
votion  is  my  music.  You  know  how  I  adore  it,  how 
much  a  part  of  my  life  it  has  always  been — yet  it  means 
nothing  to  Jack,  and  he  therefore  takes  no  particular 
interest  in  it.  He  went  to  the  Symphonies  and  the 
Opera  with  me  while  we  were  engaged,  and  to  concerts 
and  recitals,  but  I  knew  all  the  time  that  it  was  just  to 
please  me.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  when  we  were  mar 
ried  I  would  keep  up  my  interest  in  this  '  devotion '  of 
mine  only  as  much  as  I  could  without  having  it  inter 
fere  with  those  things  which  he  cared  for  or  which  we 
could  enjoy  together.  But  the  fact  that  music  means 
less  to  him  than  it  means  to  me  does  not  make  me  love 
him  any  the  less." 

"  But  you  don't  enter  into  this  particular  interest  of 
his,  even  to  please  him,  as  he  did  to  please  you." 

"  Because  I  appreciate  from  the  experience  I  have 
just  mentioned  how  little  real  satisfaction  it  would  give 
either  one  of  us.  Looking  back,  I  feel  that  I  was  posi 
tively  selfish  to  let  him  go  to  those  concerts  with  me,  and 
I  shall  never  inflict  them  on  him  again.  I  am  sure  that 

[63] 


THE    SPELL 


he  knows  how  I  feel,  and  I  think  he  ought  to  be  grate 
ful  for  my  consideration." 

Inez  pressed  Helen's  hand.  "  You  ought  to  know 
best,  dear,"  she  answered.  "  You  both  possess  such 
wonderful  possibilities  that  it  would  be  a  shame  not  to 
combine  them.  It  seems  to  me  that  you  might  come  to 
an  appreciation  of  each  other's  interests  by  becoming 
familiar  with  them. — I  wonder  if  you  realize  what  a  man 
your  husband  is?" 

Helen  leaned  over  and  kissed  her  impulsively.  "  I 
realize  more  than  I  ever  intend  to  let  him  know,  dear 
child.  He  would  become  unbearably  conceited  were  he 
even  to  guess  how  much  he  has  already  become  to  me. 
I  really  did  not  want  to  marry  him — or  to  marry  any 
one  —  but  he  swept  away  every  objection,  just  as  he 
always  does,  and  now  I  find  myself  wondering  how 
in  the  world  I  ever  existed  without  him.  Oh,  Inez  "• 
Helen's  face  became  tense  in  her  earnestness — "  we  girls 
think  we  know  a  whole  lot  about  marriage.  We  an 
ticipate  it — we  dread  it ;  but,  when  one  actually  enters 
into  her  new  estate,  she  knows  how  infinitely  more  it  is 
to  be  anticipated,  if  happy,  than  her  fondest  dream. 
But  if  unhappy — then  her  dread  must  have  been  in 
finitesimal  compared  with  the  reality." 

"  '  Marriage  is  either  a  complete  union  or  a  complete 
isolation,'  "  quoted  Inez. 

"  As  I  tell  you,  Jack  and  I  understand  each  other 
perfectly,"  Helen  continued,  confidently,  "  and  that 
means  so  much  to  a  girl.  One  of  the  first  things  I  told 
him,  after  we  became  engaged,  was  that  if  our  affection 
stood  for  anything  it  must  stand  for  everything.  If 
at  any  time  while  we  were  engaged,  or  even  after  we 
were  married,  he  felt  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in 

[64] 


THE    SPELL 


thinking  me  the  one  woman  in  the  world  for  him,  he  was 
to  come  to  me  frankly  and  say  so,  and  together  we  would 
plan  how  best  to  meet  the  situation.  Suppose,  for  in 
stance,  that  Jack  met  some  one  whom  he  really  loved  bet 
ter  than  me.  It  would  be  an  awful  experience,  but  how 
much  less  of  a  tragedy  to  recognize  the  fact  than  to  live 
on,  a  hollow,  miserable  existence,  such  as  we  see  in  so 
many  instances  around  us." 

"  And  he  has  not  confessed  to  you  yet  ?" 

"  Not  yet,"  Helen  laughed,  "  and  we  shall  have  been 
married  six  weeks  to-morrow.  That  is  a  pretty  good 
start,  is  it  not?" 

"  But  how  about  yourself — have  you  the  same  privi 
lege?" 

"  Of  course ;  but  that  is  not  important,  for  I  shall 
never  see  any  one  fit  to  ride  in  the  same  automobile  with 
Jack." 

"  What  did  you  say  about  my  automobile  ?  Has  it 
arrived  ?" 

Armstrong's  face  was  filled  with  eager  expectation  as 
he  came  up  behind  Helen,  followed  by  Uncle  Peabody. 
He  drew  her  affectionately  toward  him. 

"  You  wretch !"  cried  Helen,  "  you  have  been  eaves 
dropping." 

"  Not  an  eavesdrop,"  protested  Jack,  "  and  I  can 
prove  it  by  a  witness.  When  I  came  down  -  stairs  I 
looked  for  my  beloved  spouse  upon  the  terrace  and 
found  her  not.  The  gentle  Annetta  confided  to  me  that 
you  and  the  Signorina  Thayer  were  in  the  garden ;  I 
set  out  upon  my  quest  and  found  you  here  discussing 
my  automobile  or  some  one  else's.  Again  I  ask  you, 
have  you  news  of  its  arrival?" 

"  No,  Jack — no  news  as  yet ;  and  you  make  out  so 
6  [65] 


THE     SPELL 


good  a  case  that  I  must  absolve  you.  Since  you  insist 
on  knowing,  we  were  discussing  the  very  prosaic  subject 
of  matrimony." 

"  Why  discourage  Miss  Thayer  from  making  the  at 
tempt  simply  because  of  your  own  sad  case?"  Arm 
strong  queried,  releasing  his  wife  and  seating  himself 
beside  her  on  the  edge  of  the  balustrade.  "  Marriage 
is  a  lottery — so  saith  the  philosopher.  We  all  know 
the  preponderance  of  blanks  and  small  prizes,  yet  each 
one  feels  certain  that  he  will  be  the  lucky  one.  Once  in 
a  while  a  chap  pulls  out  the  capital  prize,  and  that  en 
courages  the  others,  though  it  ought  to  discourage  them, 
because  it  lessens  the  chances  just  so  much.  But  what 
I  object  to  is  the  growling  afterward,  when  each  should 
realize  that  he  is  getting  exactly  what  he  ought  to  have 
expected." 

"  But  it  is  not  fair  that  both  you  and  Helen  should 
have  drawn  the  lucky  numbers,"  Inez  declared.  "  It 
makes  it  so  hopeless  for  the  rest  of  us." 

"  There,  Sir  Fisher,"  cried  Helen,  "  you  have  gained 
the  compliment  for  which  you  strove.  Art  satisfied?" 

"  No  one  has  drawn  me  yet,"  suggested  Uncle  Pea- 
body,  "  and  I  am  a  capital  prize — I  admit  it." 

"  It  is  a  shame  to  throw  cold  water  on  Miss  Thay- 
er's  beautiful  sentiment,"  continued  Armstrong.  "  Such 
thoughts  are  so  rare  that  they  should  be  encouraged ; 
but  the  facts  of  the  case  are  that  the  capital  prizes 
in  the  men's  lottery  were  discontinued  long  ago.  No — 
among  the  girls  they  are  still  to  be  won  at  rare  intervals, 
but  the  only  way  to  distinguish  the  men  is  by  looking  up 
their  rating  in  Bradstreet's,  or  their  mother's  family 
name  in  the  Social  Register.  Other  than  this,  one  man 
is  as  bad  as  another,  if  not  worse." 

[66] 


THE     SPELL 


Inez  looked  at  Armstrong  for  a  moment  with  a  puz 
zled  expression,  but  failed  to  find  any  suggestion  that 
he  was  speaking  lightly.  And  yet — what  a  change  in 
attitude  from  the  morning!  She  hesitated  to  turn  the 
subject  upon  what  seemed  to  her  to  be  forbidden  ground, 
yet  she  could  not  resist  opposing  his  expressions,  even 
though  they  might  be  uttered  flippantly.  Her  voice  con 
tained  a  reproach. 

"  You  spoke  differently  of  men  this  morning." 

Armstrong  turned  to  her  quickly.  "  This  morning?" 
he  repeated.  "  Oh,  but  I  was  referring  to  the  human 
ists,  and  to  ancient  ones  at  that.  I  am  talking  now  of 
men  in  general,  rather  than  of  those  rare  exceptions, 
ancient  or  modern,  who  have  succeeded  in  separating 
themselves  from  their  commonplace  contemporaries.  Of 
course,  my  respect  for  the  old-timers  is  supreme,  be 
cause  their  great  accomplishments  were  in  the  face  of 
so  much  greater  obstacles.  Since  then  the  world  has 
had  five  hundred  years  in  which  to  degenerate." 

"  Don't  pay  any  attention  to  him,  Inez,"  Helen  inter 
rupted,  complacently.  "  He  is  simply  trying  to  start 
an  argument,  and  he  does  not  believe  a  word  he  says. 
He  really  looks  upon  men  as  infinitely  superior  beings 
in  the  past,  present,  and  future,  and  this  self-abnegation 
on  the  part  of  himself  and  his  sex  is  only  a  passing  con 
ceit." 

"  I  refuse  to  be  side-tracked,"  Armstrong  insisted.  "  I 
grant  that  the  conversation  started  more  in  jest  than 
in  earnest,  but  I  maintain  my  position,  none  the  less. 
Modern  civilization  has  brought  to  us  a  wonderful 
material  development,  but  intellectual  advance,  instead 
of  keeping  abreast  of  the  material,  has  positively  retro 
graded." 

[67] 


THE    SPELL 


"  You  really  make  me  feel  ashamed  to  be  living  in 
such  an  abominable  age,"  suggested  Uncle  Peabody. 

Inez  was  serious.  "  I  am  quite  incompetent  to  carry 
on  this  discussion  with  you,  Mr.  Armstrong,"  she  said, 
disregarding  the  others,  "  and  I  admire,  as  you  know, 
the  marvellous  accomplishments  of  these  '  old  -  timers,' 
as  you  call  them,  wondering  at  their  power  to  overcome 
the  obstacles  which  we  know  existed.  Yet  I  like  to 
believe  that  the  ages  which  have  passed  have  mark 
ed  an  advance  on  all  sides  rather  than  a  retrogres 
sion." 

"  So  should  I  like  to,"  assented  Armstrong,  "  if  I 
could;  but  look  at  the  facts.  William  .Tames  has  just 
succeeded  in  making  philosophy  popular,  but  Plato  and 
Aristotle  gave  it  to  us  before  the  birth  of  Christ.  We 
enthuse  over  Shakespeare  and  Dante  and  Milton,  but 
Homer  and  Virgil  gave  us  the  grandest  of  poetry  two 
thousand  years  ago.  The  quattrocento,  that  period 
which  so  fires  me  with  enthusiasm,  gave  us  Raphael 
as  an  artist,  together  with  Leonardo  and  Michelangelo 
as  the  foremost  examples  of  humanists.  Whom  have  we 
had  since  to  equal  them  ?" 

"  All  this  is  beyond  argument,"  Inez  admitted.  "  But 
is  this  the  fault  of  the  men  or  of  the  times?  Conditions 
are  so  changed  that  the  same  kind  of  work  can  never 
be  done  again.  The  telephone,  the  telegraph,  railroad 
trains,  fast  steamships,  the  daily  papers  — -  everything 
distracts  the  modern  worker  from  devoting  himself 
wholly  and  absolutely  to  his  single  purpose ;  but  with 
this  distraction  is  it  not  also  true  that  the  modern  worker 
gives  to  the  world  what  the  world  really  needs  most  un 
der  the  present  conditions?  In  other  words,  would  not 
these  same  great  men,  if  set  down  in  the  twentieth  cen- 

[681 


THE     SPELL 


tury,  produce  work  very  similar  to  what  modern  great 
men  have  given  and  are  giving  us?" 

"  I  should  be  sorry  enough  to  think  so,"  affirmed 
Jack.  "  What  a  pity  it  would  be !" 

Uncle  Peabody's  mood  had  changed  from  amusement 
to  interest.  "  If  I  really  thought  you  were  sincere  in 
the  attitude  you  take,"  he  said,  addressing  Armstrong, 
"  I  could  prescribe  no  better  cure  for  your  complaint 
than  to  force  you  to  subject  yourself,  for  one  single 
week,  to  those  same  conditions  which  you  seem  to  ad 
mire  so  much." 

"  If  you  refer  to  conveniences,  Mr.  Cartwright,"  in 
terrupted  Armstrong,  "  I  will  admit  without  argument 
that  you  are  right.  These  are  wholly  the  result  of  ma 
terial  development." 

"  Let  us  confine  ourselves  to  intellectual  achievements 
if  you  choose,"  continued  Uncle  Peabody.  "  Without 
an  intellect,  could  one  harness  steam  and  electricity  and 
make  them  obedient  to  the  human  will?  Is  not  a  wire 
less  message  an  echo  from  the  brain?  What  is  the  tele 
phone  if  not  a  product  of  thought?" 

"  You  and  Miss  Thayer  are  arguing  my  case  far  bet 
ter  than  I  can  do  it  myself,"  replied  Armstrong,  un 
disturbed.  "  The  triumphs  of  Watt  and  Edison  and 
Marconi  and  Bell  are  all  intellectual,  even  though  util 
itarian.  Each  of  these  men  has  proved  himself  humanis 
tic,  in  that  he  has  given  to  the  world  the  best  that  is 
in  him,  and  not  simply  modified  or  readapted  some  pre 
vious  achievement.  If  they  were  not  limited  by  living 
in  an  age  of  specialization  they  might  even  have  been 
humanists.  Right  here  in  Italy  you  see  the  same  thing 
to-day.  The  Italians  are  beyond  any  other  race  intel 
lectually  fit  to  rule  the  world  now  as  they  once  did,  and 

[69] 


THE     SPELL 


it  is  simply  because  they  have  been  unable  to  withstand 
materialism  that  they  have  not  reclaimed  their  own." 

"  Just  what  do  you  mean  by  '  humanism,'  Jack  ?" 
Helen  asked,  abruptly. 

"  The  final  definition  of  modern  humanism  will  not 
be  written  for  several  years,"  Armstrong  answered. 
"  The  world  is  not  yet  ready  for  it,  and  I  am  afraid 
Cerini's  creed  of  ancient  humanism  would  strike  you  as 
being  rather  heavy." 

"  Let  me  see  if  I  could  comprehend  it."  Helen  looked 
across  to  Inez,  and  the  eyes  of  the  two  girls  met  with 
mutual  understanding.  "  Can  you  repeat  it?" 

"  I  know  it  word  for  word,"  her  husband  replied, 
eagerly,  delighted  to  have  Helen  manifest  an  interest. 
"  It  was  the  first  lesson  the  old  man  taught  me,  years 
ago.  '  The  humanist,'  Cerini  says,  '  is  the  man  who 
not  only  knows  intimately  the  ancients  and  is  inspired 
by  them:  it  is  he  who  is  so  fascinated  by  their  magic 
spell  that  he  copies  them,  imitates  them,  rehearses  their 
lessons,  adopts  their  models  and  their  methods,  their  ex 
amples  and  their  gods,  their  spirit  and  their  tongue.' ' 

Helen  was  visibly  disappointed.  "  I  thought  I  had 
an  idea,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  but  I  was  wrong.  Inez 
used  the  word  '  humanities  '  a  few  moments  ago,  and  I 
once  heard  President  Eliot  say  that  this  was  simply  an 
other  name  for  a  liberal  education — teaching  men  to 
drink  in  the  inspiration  of  all  the  ages  and  to  seek  to 
make  their  age  the  best." 

"  You  are  not  wrong,  Helen,"  continued  Armstrong, 
"  unless  you  understand  President  Eliot  to  mean  that  the 
ages  which  have  come  since  these  great  men  lived  have 
been  able  to  add  particularly  to  what  has  gone  before. 
All  that  is  included  in  what  Cerini  says." 

[70] 


THE     SPELL 


"  Then  the  present,  which  I  love  so  well,  means  noth- 
ing?" 

"  It  means  a  great  deal."  Armstrong  laughed  at  the 
injured  tone  of  Helen's  voice.  "  The  great  material 
achievements  of  the  present,  which  you  just  heard  cited 
by  Miss  Thayer  and  Uncle  Peabody,  are  of  vast  impor 
tance,  but  the  age  does  not  stand  out  as  a  period  of  in 
tellectual  progression.  The  achievements  themselves, 
and  the  new  conditions  which  they  introduce,  make  that 
impossible." 

"  Can  we  not  admire  the  past  and  enjoy  what  it  has 
given  us  without  becoming  a  part  of  it  ourselves?"  per 
sisted  Helen. 

"  Not  if  we  remain  true  to  our  ideals.  I  spoke  just 
now  of  Leonardo  and  Michelangelo  as  being  the  fore 
most  examples  of  humanists.  By  that  I  mean  that  they 
represent  the  highest  point  of  intellectual  manhood.  Da 
Vinci  was  a  great  writer,  a  great  painter,  a  great  sci 
entist,  a  great  engineer,  a  great  mechanician,  while 
Buonarroti  was  famous  not  only  as  a  sculptor,  but 
also  as  a  painter,  an  architect,  and  a  poet.  And  these 
men  had  to  develop  their  own  precedent,  while  all 
who  have  striven  for  more  than  mediocrity  since  then 
have  propped  themselves  up  on  the  work  of  these  and 
other  great  masters.  Can  you  wonder  that  my  own 
great  ambition,  quite  impossible  of  accomplishment,  is 
to  emulate  these  men — not  in  the  same  pursuits,  but  in 
some  way,  in  any  way,  which  enables  me  to  give  to  the 
world  the  best  that  is  in  me.  Should  I  gratify  myself 
in  this,  that  which  I  accomplished  would  be  done  simply 
in  the  fulfilment  of  my  effort,  and  I  should  gain  my 
recompense  in  the  knowledge  that  it  was  my  best.  This 
is  my  understanding  of  Cerini's  creed." 

[71] 


THE     SPELL 


"  All  this  is  most  interesting,"  admitted  Helen.  "  It 
is  indeed  splendid  to  know  the  ancients  intimately,  and 
to  receive  their  inspiration.  It  is  fine  to  imitate  them 
and  to  rehearse  their  lessons,  but  I  don't  see  why  we 
should  bind  ourselves  down  to  the  old-time  limitations 
by  using  their  methods  when,  to  my  mind,  our  own 
methods  are  so  much  better  suited  to  modern  condi 
tions?" 

"  Your  position  is  fully  justified,  Helen,  if  you  really 
believe  these  methods  to  be  limitations,"  replied  Arm 
strong,  seriously.  "  For  my  part,  I  do  not  feel  this.  I 
accept  the  Cerini  creed  without  qualification.  I  grant 
you  that  many  things  of  the  past  are  limitations,  but 
there  are  certain  cardinal  principles  which  must  remain 
the  same  so  long  as  the  world  lasts  and  which  are  not 
subject  to  what  you  call  '  modern  conditions.' ' 

"  To  be  wholly  consistent,  Jack,"  pursued  Uncle  Pea- 
body,  "  should  you  not  adopt  their  tongue — as  called 
for  in  the  creed?" 

"  Not  necessarily,  as  the  '  creed '  is,  of  course,  ideal 
istic;  but  the  only  reason  I  do  not  do  so  is  because  of 
the  limitations  which  are  placed  upon  us— this  time  by 
modern  civilization.  Cerini  and  I  converse  for  hours 
together  in  the  Latin  tongue,  but  it  is  very  seldom  that 
I  find  the  opportunity  to  do  this.  Why  is  it  that  Latin 
is  used  in  medicine,  in  botany,  in  science,  to  give  names 
to  various  specimens  or  species  ?  Simply  because  French, 
German,  Italian,  English  may  be  forgotten  languages 
a  few  centuries  hence,  but  Latin — the  so  -  called  dead 
language- — will  be  as  enduring  then  as  now." 

"  I  can  never  hope  to  become  as  much  of  an  enthu 
siast  as  you,  Mr.  Armstrong,"  Inez  said,  finally,  as  the 
others  gave  up  the  argument  in  despair ;  "  and  I  sup- 

[72] 


THE    SPELL 


pose  you  will  never  forgive  me  if  I  say  that  I  fear  it 
would  be  very  uncomfortable  for  me  if  I  did.  You 
must  simply  let  me  browse  around  the  edges  as  a  neo 
phyte  while  you  and  the  master  quaff  the  nectar  and 
ambrosia  of  the  gods." 

"  And  I  cannot  even  do  that,"  added  Helen,  rising 
from  the  balustrade.  "  I  cannot  give  up  my  dear  pres 
ent  even  to  agree  with  my  learned  husband.  You  don't 
want  me  to  say  that  I  am  sorry  I  am  living  among  all 
these  imperfect  conditions  when  I  really  find  them  very 
satisfactory  and  enjoyable?  It  is  wrong  of  you  so  to 
break  down  my  modern  idols.  There  are  our  guests," 
she  continued,  as  a  laughing  group  appeared  on  the 
veranda.  "  As  penance  I  decree  that  you  shall  take 
each  of  us  by  the  hand  and  lead  us  back  to  the  villa — 
the  Humanist  flanked  by  the  Pagan  and  the  Christian. 
Arise,  thou  ancient  one,  and  lead  us  on !" 


VI 


THE  visits  which  Armstrong  and  Miss  Thayer 
made  to  the  library  became  of  daily  occurrence. 
Encouraged  by  his  companion's  interest,  and  the 
eagerness  with  which  she  assimilated  the  enthusiasm 
which  he  and  Cerini  were  only  too  willing  to  share  with 
her,  Armstrong  promptly  embraced  a  scheme  for  definite 
work  suggested  to  him  by  the  librarian.  Inez  at  first 
proved  only  a  sympathetic  spectator,  but  by  the  third  or 
fourth  day  she  found  herself  a  distinct  part  of  the 
working  force.  She  demurred  half-heartedly,  but  when 
it  became  evident  that  she  could  really  make  herself  of 
service  she  entered  into  it  with  characteristic  intensity 
which  increased  from  day  to  day. 

Soon  after  the  departure  of  the  guests  the  auto 
mobile  arrived,  and  transformed  Armstrong  from  a 
Humanist  into  an  Egoist  and  then  into  a  Mechanist. 
For  the  moment  the  material  concern  took  precedence 
over  the  intellectual. 

"  Of  course  I  expect  to  have  the  chauffeur  do  the 
work  once  we  are  under  way,"  he  half  apologized  to 
Uncle  Peabody,  who  with  a  good-natured  interest  watch 
ed  him  taking  the  precious  machine  to  pieces ;  "  but  be 
fore  I  trust  it  to  any  one  I  must  understand  it  thoroughly 
myself." 

"  Quite  right,  quite  right,"  Uncle  Peabody  assented, 
[74] 


THE    SPELL 


cheerfully.  "  I  believe  in  that  theory  entirely.  I  have 
noticed  when  my  friends  have  found  themselves  stalled 
on  the  road  that  it  never  annoys  them  half  so  much 
if  they  can  explain  the  reason  why.  Besides,  from  a 
secondary  consideration,  I  suppose  it  adds  something  to 
the  safety  to  know  the  machine  yourself." 

As  the  car  had  arrived  in  advance  of  the  chauf 
feur,  Armstrong  had  plenty  of  time  to  study  the  mechan 
ism.  It  came  to  pieces  with  consummate  ease.  Its  new 
owner  had  never  claimed  much  knowledge  along  these 
lines,  but  the  simplicity  of  this  particular  machine  in 
creased  his  respect  for  his  judgment  as  a  purchaser  and 
his  natural  though  hitherto  undeveloped  ability  as  a  me 
chanic. 

"  These  Frenchmen,"  he  confided  enthusiastically  to 
Uncle  Peabody,  "  have  the  rest  of  the  world  beaten  to 
a  stand-still  in  building  automobiles.  My  hat  is  off  to 
them." 

"  Would  you  not  be  even  more  comfortable  if  you  re 
moved  your  shirt  as  well?"  suggested  Uncle  Peabody, 
mischievously,  as  he  glanced  sympathetically  at  Arm 
strong's  face,  from  which  the  perspiration  rolled  down 
onto  his  collar  in  response  to  his  unusual  exertions  and 
the  heat  of  the  full  Italian  sun. 

"  It  is  nearly  to  pieces  now,"  Armstrong  replied,  com 
placently.  "  I  will  wait  until  it  is  cooler  before  I  set  it 
up  again." 

True  to  his  word,  Armstrong  began  work  on  the 
restoration  early  next  morning,  but  the  heat  of  the  day 
found  him  still  at  his  labors  and  in  no  cheerful  frame  of 
mind.  Uncle  Peabody's  philosophical  suggestions  had 
proved  unacceptable  some  hours  before.  Helen's  remark 
that  she  did  not  believe  the  three  extra  pieces  Jack  held 

[75] 


THE     SPELL 


despairingly  in  his  hand  had  come  from  that  particular 
machine  at  all  brought  forth  such  a  withering  expression 
of  pitying  contempt  that  she  flew  back  to  the  house  in 
alarm.  Even  the  servants  found  that  the  opposite  side 
of  the  villa  demanded  their  especial  care.  A  truce  was 
declared  for  the  colazione,  but  Armstrong  devoured  his 
repast  in  silence,  showing  no  interest  in  the  animated 
conversation,  and  with  scant  apologies  left  the  table  long 
in  advance  of  the  others  to  resume  his  task. 

At  five  o'cloclrtP-dusty  vettura  drove  noisily  into  the 
driveway,  and  from  his  point  of  vantage,  lying  on  his 
back  underneath  the  automobile,  Armstrong  saw  Mr. 
Ferdinand  De  Peyster  alight.  With  a  curse  muttered, 
not  from  any  antipathy  to  his  visitor,  but  simply  on 
general  principles,  he  laboriously  extricated  himself  from 
his  position  with  a  view  to  the  extension  of  hospitality. 
De  Peyster  saw  the  movement  and  hastily  approached. 

Ferdinand  De  Peyster  was  a  distinct  individuality, 
which  in  a  degree  explained  the  criticism  which  some 
of  his  friends  passed  upon  him.  His  foreign  descent, 
though  now  tempered  by  two  generations  of  American 
influence,  was  probably  responsible  for  the  fact  that  he 
was  "  different  from  other  men."  Always  faultlessly 
dressed,  his  taste  followed  the  continental  styles  rather 
than  those  which  other  men  about  him  were  in  the  habit 
of  adopting,  so  while  Americans  in  Florence  were  clad  in 
flannels,  neglige  shirts,  and  white  buckskins,  De  Peyster 
appeared  at  the  Villa  Godilombra  immaculate  in  the 
conventional  lounging-coat,  tucked  shirt  and  lavender 
gloves,  with  white  spats  over  his  patent  -  leather  shoes. 
There  was  more  of  a  contrast  between  visitor  and  guest 
at  that  moment  than  Armstrong  realized  as  he  emerged 
in  his  old  clothes,  thoroughlv  soaked  through  with  per- 

[76] 


THE    SPELL 


spiration,  and  with  his  hands  and  face  grimy  with  oil 
and  dirt. 

De  Peyster  drew  back  instinctively  as  the  full  vision 
of  Jack's  figure  presented  itself.  "  Comprenez  vous 
f  ranoais  ?' 

Armstrong  stopped  in  his  advance  as  he  heard  the 
question  and  noted  the  superior  tone  in  which  it  was 
delivered.  Then  the  humor  of  the  situation  appealed 
to  him. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  replied,  respectfully,  "  or  English,  if 
you  prefer." 

De  Peyster's  face  brightened.  "  Ah !  Mr.  Armstrong 
brought  you  over  with  him?"  he  remarked,  becoming  al 
most  sociable. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Jack  replied,  truthfully.  "  Is  there  any 
thing  I  can  do  for  you,  sir?" 

"  I  am  Mr.  De  Peyster,"  said  Ferdinand,  with  con 
descension — "  a  friend  of  your  master's  in  America.  Is 
he  at  home  this  afternoon?" 

"  Yes,  sir—" 

Before  Armstrong  could  continue  De  Peyster  ap 
proached  nearer  to  him  and  lowered  his  voice.  "  I  say 
— is  there  a  Miss  Thayer  from  America  visiting  here 
just  now?" 

A  quick  movement  on  De  Peyster's  part  deposited  a 
franc  in  Jack's  grimy  palm.  Holding  his  hand  in  front 
of  him,  his  astonished  look  alternated  between  the  piece 
of  silver  and  his  friend's  face  until  he  found  himself 
unable  to  keep  up  the  farce. 

"  De  Peyster,  you  are  a  fraud !"  Armstrong  laughed 
boisterously  at  the  look  of  dismay  in  Ferdinand's  face 
as  a  realization  came  to  him.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  that  the  joys  of  a  honeymoon  and  life  in  Italy  have 

[77] 


THE     SPELL 


wrought    so    many    changes   that    you    don't    recognize 
me?" 

"  But  can  you  blame  me?"  DC  Peyster  joined  in  the 
merriment.  "  Run  and  get  some  one  to  tell  you  how  you 
look." 

The  sound  of  this  unexpected  hilarity  reached  the 
terrace,  and  Uncle  Peabody,  flanked  by  both  of  the  girls, 
came  rushing  out  fearful  lest  Jack's  problem  had  re 
sulted  in  temporary  mental  derangement.  A  glance  at 
the  picture  before  them,  however,  explained  the  situation 
better  than  words,  and  Helen  hurried  forward  to  greet 
her  visitor  while  Inez  followed  behind. 

"  Ferdy  De  Peyster  —  in  the  flesh !"  cried  Helen. 
"  What  does  this  mean,  and  when  did  you  reach  Flor 
ence  ?" 

Armstrong  gave  him  no  opportunity  to  reply.  "  He 
prefers  to  speak  French,  Helen,  and  he  is  just  throwing 
his  money  around." 

Then  turning  to  De  Peyster  and  exhibiting  his  pour- 
boire,  he  repeated,  "  Comprenez  vous  francais?"  while 
both  men  went  off  again  into  a  paroxysm  of  laughter. 

"  What  is  the  joke?"  Helen  asked,  looking  from  one 
to  the  other  completely  mystified. 

"  It  is  a  good  one — and  on  me,"  replied  De  Peyster. 
"  I  took  him  for  the  chauffeur,  you  know." 

Helen  looked  at  her  husband.  "  Is  it  safe  for  me  to 
laugh  now,  Jack?"  she  asked.  "I  am  glad  something 
has  happened  to  put  you  in  good-humor.  Can  you  be 
induced  to  leave  your  work  for  the  rest  of  the  day  and 
make  yourself  presentable  to  join  us  in  the  garden?" 

Armstrong  cast  a  despairing  glance  at  the  machine. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  be  fresher  in  the  morn 
ing,  anyway,  and  I  am  sure  I  can  fix  it  up  then." 

[78] 


THE     SPELL 


"  Nothing  like  knowing  all  about  it  yourself,  Jack," 
Uncle  Peabody  remarked,  innocently.  "  These  French 
machines  are  so  simple !" 

"  You  take  the  girls  back  to  the  garden,"  Armstrong 
replied,  emphatically,  "  and  kindly  devote  your  attention 
to  your  own  theories,  or  I  will  put  you  at  work  on  the 
blamed  thing  yourself  to-morrow." 

De  Peyster  greeted  Inez  effusively,  paying  but  little 
attention  to  Helen  and  Uncle  Peabody  as  they  strolled 
back  to  the  garden,  while  Jack  disappeared  in-doors. 

"  Oh,  I  say !"  he  exclaimed  as  they  reached  the  bal 
ustrade.  "  How  did  Armstrong  happen  to  find  a  place 
like  this?  Is  it  not  simply  splendid,  Inez?" 

Inez  Thayer  resented  something — she  did  not  quite 
know  what.  She  had  been  expecting  De  Peyster's  ar 
rival  daily,  yet  now  that  he  had  come  she  was  still  un 
prepared.  She  could  find  no  fault  with  his  attentions 
except  that  they  had  been  too  assiduous.  Perhaps  it  was 
that,  try  as  she  could,  she  had  been  quite  unable  to  con 
vince  him  that  his  devotion  was  useless.  He  accepted 
each  rebuff  philosophically  and  bided  his  time. 

Annetta  skilfully  arranged  the  chairs  and  laid  the 
little  table,  placed,  as  Helen  had  taught  her,  in  a  spot 
commanding  the  exquisite  view  of  the  valley  and  Sari 
Miniato  beyond.  Luscious  fragole,  cooling  gelati,  se 
ducing  little  Italian  paste,  as  only  Helen's  cook  could 
make  them,  and  a  refreshing  Asti  cup  replaced  the  tea 
which  the  girls  had  decided  would  be  less  acceptable  on 
this  particular  day ;  and  by  the  time  all  was  in  readiness 
Armstrong  joined  them  clothed  in  his  proper  mind  and 
raiment. 

The  conversation  turned  upon  the  voyage  across. 

"  We  had  an  awfully  jolly  crowd  on  board,"  said  De 
'  [79] 


THE     SPELL 


Pejster.  "  There  were  Emory  and  Eustis,  who  you  say 
have  just  left  you,  and  then  there  were  three  charming 
married  women  who  insisted  on  my  playing  bridge  with 
them  every  afternoon." 

"  They  did  not  have  to  insist  very  hard,  did  they, 
Ferdy  ?"  interrupted  Helen — "  with  your  reputation  for 
gallantry." 

Ferdinand  smiled  complacently.  "  Making  up  a 
fourth  at  bridge  comes  under  the  definition  of  '  first 
aid  to .  the  wounded,'  "  he  replied,  "  but  I  did  not  ob 
ject  at  all  to  being  the  doctor.  Their  conversation  was 
so  clever,  you  know." 

"  Clever  conversation  always  helps  good  bridge," 
Armstrong  interrupted,  dryly ;  but  De  Peyster  was  al 
ready  deep  in  his  story. 

"  One  afternoon  they  had  a  discussion  as  to  how  large 
an  allowance  for  personal  expenses  would  make  each  one 
perfectly  happy, — funny  subject,  wasn't  it?  Well,  one 
of  them  said  ten  thousand  a  year  would  take  care  of  her 
troubles  nicely;  the  second  one  was  more  modest  and 
thought  five  thousand  would  do, — but  what  do  you  think 
my  partner  said?  She  was  a  demure  little  lady  from 
Chicago  and  had  only  been  married  a  year  and  a  half." 

"  Don't  keep  us  in  suspense,  Ferd}',"  said  Helen,  as 
De  Peyster  yielded  to  the  humor  of  his  recollections. 

"  Truly,  it  was  awfully  funny,"  he  continued.  "  She 
looked  rather  frightened  when  the  conversation  began, 
and  when  they  urged  her  to  set  a  price  she  said,  '  I 
would  be  perfectly  satisfied  if  I  could  afford  to  spend 
just  what  I  am  spending.' ' 

"  She  had  a  conscience — that  is  the  only  difference  be 
tween  her  and  the  other  women,"  Armstrong  commented. 

"  Perhaps,"  added  Helen  ;  "  but  I'll  guarantee  that  in 
[SO] 


THE    SPELL 


another  year  she  will  be  getting  a  divorce  from  her  hus 
band  on  the  ground  of  incompatibility  of  income." 

"  Then  in  the  evenings,"  De  Peyster  went  on,  "  the 
men  got  together  in  the  smoke-room,  but  I  think  we 
drank  too  much.  I  always  felt  uncomfortable  when  I 
got  up  next  morning." 

"  Another  encouragement  for  my  magnum  opus!"  ex 
claimed  Uncle  Peabody.  "  I  am  going  to  invent  a  wine 
possessing  such  qualities  that  the  more  one  drinks  of  it 
the  better  he  will  feel  next  morning." 

"  If  you  succeed  you  will  have  clubdom  at  your  feet," 
Armstrong  replied,  while  De  Peyster  feelingly  nodded 
assent. 

"  Would  you  mind  if  I  invited  Inez  to  drive  with  me 
to-morrow,  Helen?"  ventured  Ferdinand,  abruptly,  look 
ing  anxiously  at  Miss  Thayer.  "  I  know  you  honey- 
mooners  won't  mind  being  left  alone  if  I  can  persuade 
her." 

"  By  all  means,  Ferdy — unless  Inez  has  some  other 
plans.  Jack  has  been  making  her  ride  his  hobby  ever 
since  she  arrived,  and  I  have  no  doubt  she  will  be  glad 
enough  to  escape  us  for  a  little  breathing-spell." 

"  If  you  put  it  that  way  I  shall  certainly  decline  " — 
Inez  failed  to  show  any  great  enthusiasm — "  but  other 
wise  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  go." 

"  Jack  intends  to  put  his  automobile  together  to-mor 
row,"  Uncle  Peabody  remarked,  "  so  it  will  be  just  as 
well  not  to  have  any  one  outside  the  family  within  hear 
ing  distance." 

Armstrong  tried  to  wither  Uncle  Peabody  with  a 
glance,  but  ran  up  against  a  smiling  face  so  beaming 
with  good-nature  that  even  real  anger  would  have  been 
dispelled. 

6  [81] 


THE     SPELL 


"  For  Helen's  sake — "  Jack  began,  but  Uncle  Peabody 
interrupted. 

"  For  Helen's  sake  you  will  hasten  the  arrival  of  your 
chauffeur,  if  such  a  thing  be  possible." 

The  following  day  was  an  eventful  one.  First  of  all, 
as  if  in  response  to  Uncle  Peabody's  exhortation,  the 
chauffeur  appeared.  Mr.  Cartwright  departed  for  the 
city  soon  after  breakfast,  to  be  gone  all  day,  and  by 
the  time  the  heat  of  the  afternoon  had  subsided  De 
Peyster  drove  up  in  state  to  enforce  the  promise  Inez 
had  given  him  the  afternoon  before.  After  watching 
them  drive  away,  Helen  slipped  her  hand  through  her 
husband's  arm  and  gently  drew  him  with  her  into  the 
garden.  They  walked  in  silence,  Helen's  head  resting 
against  his  shoulder,  until  they  reached  her  favorite 
vantage-spot,  when  she  paused  and  looked  smilingly  into 
his  face. 

"  Jack  dear,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  do  you  realize  that 
this  is  almost  the  first  time  we  have  really  been  by  our 
selves  since  we  took  that  walk  to  Fiesole?" 

"  But  at  least  you  have  had  an  opportunity  to  show 
your  villa  to  your  friends  !" 

"  Don't  joke,  Jack — I  am  not  in  the  mood  for  it  this 
afternoon.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  have  been  feeling 
very  serious  these  last  few  days.  Tell  me,  dear — are  you 
perfectly  happy?" 

Armstrong  looked  surprised.  "  Why,  yes — perfectly 
happy.  What  a  curious  notion  !" 

"  I  know  it  is,  but  humor  me  just  this  once.  Are 
you  as  fond  of  me  now  as  you  were  that  day  at  Fiesole?" 

"  You  silly  child !"  Jack  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed 
her.  "  Whatever  has  possessed  you  to-day?" 

[821 


THE    SPELL 


"  I  don't  know,  but  you  see  I  measure  everything  by 
that  day  at  Fiesole.  I  believe  it  was  the  happiest  day 
I  ever  spent.  Since  then,  somehow,  I  have  felt  that  we 
were  not  so  near  together.  Of  course,  you  have  been 
away  a  good  deal  at  the  library  and  looking  up  things 
with  Inez,  which  was  just  what  I  wanted  you  to  do; 
and  then  we  have  had  a  good  many  here  to  entertain, 
which  was  also  what  I  wanted;  but  I  can't  help  feeling 
that  you  have  not  found  here  at  home  just  what  you 
should  have  found  to  make  you  perfectly  happy.  Tell 
me,  dear,  have  I  been  to  blame  ?" 

Armstrong  paused  as  if  weighing  something  heavily 
in  his  mind.  "  Perhaps  I  have  no  right  to  go  on  with 
this  work,"  he  remarked,  at  length,  "  but  the  only  way 
to  stop  it  would  be  to  leave  Florence." 

"  You  know  I  don't  mean  that,  Jack." 

"  I  know  you  don't.  I  am  speaking  simply  for  my 
self." 

He  was  again  silent,  and  Helen  hesitated  to  break  in 
upon  his  reverie.  He  seemed  for  the  moment  to  be  far 
away  from  her,  and  she  felt  an  intangible  barrier  be 
tween  them. 

"  I  could  not  make  any  one  understand."  Armstrong 
was  speaking  more  to  himself  than  to  her.  "  Ever  since 
I  left  Florence  years  ago  I  have  felt  something  pulling 
me  back,  and  ever  since  I  have  been  here  I  have  been 
under  influences  which  I  can  explain  no  more  than  I  can 
resist.  It  must  be  this,  if  anything,  that  you  feel." 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  Helen  hastened  to  reassure 
him.  "  Sometimes  when  I  have  been  playing  something 
on  the  piano  I  have  the  strangest  sensation  come  over 
me.  I  seem  to  lose  my  own  individuality  and  to  be 
merged  into  another's.  I  feel  impelled  to  play  on,  and 

[83] 


THE    SPELL 


an  unspeakable  dread  comes  over  me  lest  some  one  should 
try  to  stop  me.  Is  it  not  something  like  that  which  you 
feel?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Armstrong,  "  only  a  thousand  times 
stronger  than  any  one  could  put  in  words." 

"  I  know  exactly  what  you  mean — and  there  is  noth 
ing  for  which  you  need  blame  yourself.  You  warned 
me  before  we  left  Boston  that  you  had  left  here  a  second 
personality.  I  know  that  you  confidently  expected  your 
own  enthusiasm  to  excite  my  interest  when  once  in  the 
atmosphere.  I  wish  that  it  had,  dear,  but  I  fear  I  am 
hopelessly  modern." 

Armstrong  looked  at  his  wife  intently,  yet  he  gave 
no  evidence  that  he  had  heard  her  words. 

"  I  have  started  on  a  great  task  at  the  library,  Helen. 
The  spirit  of  work  is  on  me,  and  I  feel  that  I  have  a 
chance  to  prove  myself  one  of  that  glorious  company. 
I  may  find  myself  unequal  to  the  opportunity,  but  if  we 
stay  here  in  Florence  I  cannot  keep  away  from  it.  If 
my  absence  from  you  makes  you  unhappy  I  must  sepa 
rate  myself  from  these  associations." 

"  No,  indeed,"  cried  Helen.  "  I  would  not  have  you 
stop  your  work  for  worlds.  Even  though  I  am  unable 
to  appreciate  it,  you  know  how  interested  I  am  in  any 
thing  which  adds  to  your  happiness — and  I  am  so  proud 
of  you,  dear !  That  was  one  reason  why  I  was  glad  that 
Inez  could  spend  a  little  time  with  us.  She,  at  least,  can 
help  you." 

"  She  can  indeed,"  replied  Armstrong,  frankly,  "  and 
she  has  already.  I  have  never  seen  a  girl  with  such 
natural  intellectual  gifts.  Her  arguments  are  so  logical, 
her  reasoning  so  clear,  that  I  find  even  her  disagreements 
most  entertaining.  What  a  pity  she  is  not  a  man !" 

[34] 


THE    SPELL 


"  I  knew  you  would  like  her,"  answered  Helen. 
"  Sometimes  I  think  you  ought  to  have  married  a  girl 
like  her  instead  of  me,  but "  —  Helen  looked  at  him 
smilingly  and  drew  closer  to  him — "  but  I  am  awfully 
glad  that  you  didn't,  Jack !" 

"  What  nonsense,  Helen !"  cried  Armstrong,  coming  to 
himself  and  drawing  her  to  him.  "  Who  is  fishing  now? 
I  would  ask  no  better  chum  than  your  charming,  brown- 
eyed  friend,  but  I  am  quite  content  that  I  possess  as 
wife  this  sweet  girl  here  in  my  arms  who  is  trying  to 
find  a  cloud  in  this  cloudless  sky." 

"  Oh  no,  Jack."  Helen  straightened  up  reproach 
fully.  "  But  I  like  to  hear  you  say  these  things — just 
as  you  did  that  day  at  Fiesole!  And  even  if  I  should 
find  a  cloud  it  would  be  sure  to  have  a  silver  lining, 
wouldn't  it,  dear?" 

Armstrong  smiled.  "  Yes,  sweetheart,  and,  as  Uncle 
Peabody  says,  '  all  you  would  have  to  do  would  be  to 
turn  it  around  lining  side  out.'  " 


VII 


INEZ  THAYER  found  herself  overwhelmed  by  a  va 
ried  mingling  of  conflicting  emotions  as  she  settled 
herself  in  the  victoria,  and  listened  without  remark  to 
the  enthusiastic  and  joyous  monologue  to  which  her  com 
panion  gave  free  rein.  She  felt  herself  absolutely  help 
less,  borne  along  resistlessly  like  a  rudderless  ship  by  a 
force  which  she  could  neither  control  nor  fully  compre 
hend.  She  still  longed  for  a  valid  excuse  to  leave  Flor 
ence,  yet  in  her  heart  she  questioned  whether  she  would 
now  be  strong  enough  to  embrace  the  opportunity  even 
if  it  came.  She  had  dreaded  the  certain  appearance  of 
De  Peyster,  yet  she  had  been  eager  to  enter  into  the 
inevitable  final  discussion  so  that  the  episode  might  be 
closed  forever.  She  said  to  herself  that  she  hated  Arm 
strong  for  the  mastery  which  he  unconsciously  possessed 
over  her,  yet  every  thought  of  him  thrilled  her  with  a 
delight  which  nothing  in  her  life  had  before  given  her. 
The  color  came  to  her  cheeks  even  now,  and  De  Peyster, 
watching  her  intentty,  thought  it  was  in  response  to  his 
own  remark  and  felt  encouraged. 

The  drive  took  them,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  the 
Cascine,  where  fashionable  Florence  parades  up  and 
down  the  delightful  avenues  formed  by  the  pines  and 
the  ilexes.  On  this  particular  afternoon  the  heat  en 
couraged  them  to  take  refuge  on  the  shadier  side  toward 

[86] 


THE    SPELL 


the  mountains,  reserving  the  drive  along  the  Arno  until 
the  brilliant  coloring  of  the  setting  sun  should  show 
them  both  Bellosguardo  and  the  city  itself  in  their  full 
est  glory.  De  Peyster  was  intoxicated  by  the  enjoyment 
of  his  environment,  and  seemed  quite  content  to  accept 
his  companion's  passive  submission  to  his  mood.  At 
length  his  exuberance  of  spirits  became  mildly  conta 
gious,  and  Inez  threw  off  her  apprehensions  and  forgot 
the  dangers  and  perplexities  which  she  felt  surrounded 
her. 

But  her  feeling  of  security  was  short-lived.  De  Pey 
ster  no  sooner  became  conscious  of  her  change  of  manner 
than  he  seized  it  as  a  long-awaited  opportunity.  Begin 
ning  where  he  had  left  off  at  the  last  attack,  he  re 
hearsed  the  history  of  his  affection  from  the  day  he  had 
first  met  her  until  the  present  moment.  For  the  first  time 
Inez  experienced  a  sympathy  toward  him  rather  than  a 
sorrow  for  herself.  He  was,  even  with  his  limitations,  so 
deadly  in  earnest,  his  devotion  was  so  unquestionable,  his 
very  persistency  was  so  unlike  his  other  characteristics, 
seeming  a  part  of  a  stronger  personality,  that  it  forced 
her  admiration.  And  yet  how  far  below  the  standard 
she  had  set ! 

"  You  have  not  believed  me,  Ferdinand,  when  I  have 
told  you  over  and  over  again  that  what  you  ask  is  ab 
solutely  impossible."  Inez  spoke  kindly  but  very  firm- 
l}-.  "  I  truly  wish  it  might  be  otherwise,  but  it  is 
kinder  that  I  make  you  understand  it  now  instead  of 
having  this  unhappiness  for  us  both  continue  indefinitely. 
I  know  you  mean  every  word,  but  I  say  to  you  now 
finally  and  irrevocably — it  can  never  be." 

De  Peyster  looked  into  her  face  searchingly.  "  You 
never  said  it  like  that  before,  Inez." 

[87] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Yes,  I  have — not  once,  but  many  times,  and  in  al 
most  the  same  words." 

"  But  it  is  not  the  words  that  count,  Inez.  I  don't 
care  how  many  times  you  say  it  in  the  way  you  always 
have  said  it  before.  I  expected  to  hear  it  again.  But 
this  tone,  Inez,  this  manner  is  quite  different;  and  for 
the  first  time  I  have  a  feeling  that  perhaps  you  do  mean 
it  after  all." 

"  I  do  mean  it,  and  I  have  meant  it  every  time  I  have 
said  it." 

Inez  was  relentless,  but  she  felt  that  this  was  the  one 
time  when  matters  could  be  finally  settled,  and  the  car 
riage  had  already  begun  the  climb  to  Scttignano. 

De  Peyster  still  gazed  at  her  with  uncertainty.  Then 
a  sudden  light  came  to  him  and  showed  in  his  face, 
mingling  with  the  evident  pain  which  the  thought 
brought  him. 

"  I  have  it,"  he  said,  bending  toward  her  to  watch  her 
expression  more  intently ;  "  I  have  it.  You  are  in  love 
with  some  one  else !" 

Inez  felt  her  face  burn  with  the  suddenness  of  the 
accusation.  She  hesitated,  and  in  that  moment's  hesita 
tion  De  Peyster  had  his  answer.  Still  he  was  not  satis 
fied.  He  must  hear  the  words  spoken. 

"  You  told  me  last  time  that  there  was  no  one  else," 
he  said,  reproachfully,  "  and  I  know  you  spoke  the 
truth.  Now  there  must  be  some  one,  and  if  there  is  I 
am  entitled  to  know  it.  So  long  as  my  love  for  you 
cannot  harm  you,  no  power  on  earth  can  take  it  away 
from  me ;  but  if  there  is  another  who  has  a  better  right 
than  I,  that  is  a  different  matter.  Tell  me,  Inez — I  in 
sist — do  you  love  some  one  else?" 

There  was  no  retreat.  Any  denial  of  words  would  be 
[88] 


THE    SPELL 


useless,  and  it  was  the  only  way  to  end  things  after  all. 
She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  and  spoke  calmly,  though  the 
color  had  fled  from  her  cheeks  and  her  face  was  deathly 
pale.  "  Yes,  Ferdinand,  you  are  entitled  to  know  it.  I  do 
love  some  one  else,  and  I  love  him  better  than  my  life!" 

"  I  knew  it!"  De  Peyster  exclaimed,  dejectedly. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  during  which  he  struggled 
bravely  with  himself. 

"  Tell  me  who  it  is,"  he  said,  at  length.  "  Of  course, 
this  makes  it  different." 

Inez  could  not  help  admiring  the  unexpected  strength. 

"  No,  Ferdinand,  I  cannot.  This  is  my  secret,  and 
you  must  not  question  further. 

"  But  it  must  be  some  one  here,  for  you  told  me  just 
before  you  sailed  that  there  was  no  one." 

"  Perhaps  here — perhaps  elsewhere.  You  must  leave 
it  there,  Ferdinand.  If  you  care  for  me,  as  you  say  you 
do,  I  ask  you  to  leave  it  there." 

De  Peyster  bowed  submissively  and  shared  her  evident 
desire  for  silence  during  the  few  moments  which  remained 
of  their  drive. 

Helen  and  Jack  met  them  at  the  villa,  and  were  great 
ly  disappointed  that  Ferdinand  declined  their  pressing 
invitation  to  stay  for  supper  in  the  garden.  A  promise 
that  he  would  take  tea  with  them  on  the  following  after 
noon  was  all  they  could  secure  from  him,  and  when 
Inez  rushed  up-stairs  promptly  upon  his  departure  Jack 
looked  at  Helen  meaningly. 

"  She  must  have  turned  him  down  good  and  hard  this 
time,  eh?" 

"  Poor  Ferdy !"  Helen  replied,  sympathetically.     "  I 
had  no  idea  he  could  get  so  cut  up  over  anything." 
....... 

[891 


THE    SPELL 


The  automobile,  even  in  the  two  days  it  had  been  a 
member  of  the  Armstrong  family,  completely  demoralized 
the  entire  establishment.  Jack  was  beside  himself  with 
excitement  and  joy,  his  early  experiments  both  with 
chauffeur  and  car  being  eminently  satisfactory.  He  con 
tented  himself  with  short  runs  down  to  the  city  and 
back  the  first  day  after  his  man  had  succeeded  in  put 
ting  the  car  into  its  normal  condition,  but  his  impatience 
to  start  out  again  immediately  after  each  return,  even 
though  luncheon  was  most  unceremoniously  shortened, 
produced  almost  as  much  dismay  in  the  household  as  his 
bad  temper  while  trying  to  reconstruct  the  machine. 

"  I  want  you  all  to  have  a  ride  in  it  at  the  earliest 
possible  moment,"  he  explained ;  "  but  before  I  risk 
any  one's  neck  but  my  own  I  must  satisfy  myself  that 
the  car  is  all  right  and  that  the  chauffeur  knows  his 
business." 

The  only  event  which  diverted  Armstrong  was  the  re 
turn  to  the  villa  of  Inez  and  De  Peyster,  for  their  evi 
dent  discomforture  caused  him  real  concern.  On  gen 
eral  principles  he  was  interested  in  the  outcome  of  the 
obvious  errand  which  had  brought  De  Peyster  to  Flor 
ence,  and  beyond  this  he  had  already  come  to  look  upon 
Miss  Thayer  as  a  most  agreeable  companion  and  as 
sistant  whose  happiness  and  equilibrium  he  regretted  to 
see  disturbed. 

After  De  Peyster's  unceremonious  departure  and 
Inez'  abrupt  disappearance,  he  and  Helen  strolled  out 
into  the  garden,  where  the  table  was  already  laid  for 
supper. 

"  There  is  no  use  waiting  for  Inez,"  said  Helen. 
"  Poor  child !  It  is  a  shame  to  have  her  unhappy  when 
we  are  so  contented.  But  where  is  Uncle  Peabody?" 

[90] 


THE    SPELL 


"  I  met  him  on  the  Lung'  Arno  and  offered  to  take 
him  home,  but  he  said  he  was  bound  for  Olschki's.  Try 
ing  to  find  out  if  Luigi  Cornaro  wrote  anything  he  had 
not  discovered,  he  said." 

"  Perhaps  he  will  come  before  we  have  finished.  You 
sit  there,  Jack,  where  you  can  watch  the  sunset  behind 
San  Miniato,  and  I  will  sit  next  to  you  so  that  I  can 
watch  it,  too." 

Helen  drew  the  light  chair  nearer,  and  smilingly  look 
ed  up  at  him.  "  There,"  she  said.  "  Is  this  not  cozy — 
just  you  and  I?" 

Armstrong  smiled  back  into  her  radiant  eyes  with 
equal  contentment.  "  This  is  absolute  perfection,  but 
you  don't  imagine  we  can  eat  like  this,  do  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  feel  a  bit  hungry,"  she  replied,  cheerfully, 
making  no  attempt  to  move.  "  Uncle  Peabody  says  we 
ought  not  to  eat  when  we  don't  feel  like  it,  and  I  don't 
feel  like  it  now." 

"  But  what  does  Uncle  Peabody  say  about  not  eating 
when  you  have  been  knocking  about  in  an  automobile  all 
day  and  have  the  appetite  of  a  horse?" 

"  Oh,  you  men !"  cried  Helen,  straightening  up  with 
a  pout.  "  I  don't  believe  there  is  a  bit  of  sentiment  in 
a  man's  make-up,  anyhow.  Eat — eat — eat —  "  and  she 
piled  his  plate  high  with  generous  portions  from  every 
dish  within  reach. 

Uncle  Peabody's  step  upon  the  path  gave  warning  of 
his  approach. 

"  So  I  am  in  time  after  all,"  he  said.  "  I  was  afraid 
I  should  be  obliged  to  eat  my  evening  repast  in  solitary 
loneliness.  But  is  this  the  way  you  follow  my  precepts?" 
he  continued,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  Armstrong's  plate. 
"  Can't  you  take  it  on  the  instalment  plan — or  are  you 

[91] 


THE    SPELL 


anticipating    forming   a    partnership   with   a   stomach- 
pump?" 

"  It  is  my  fault,  uncle,"  replied  Helen,  contritely. 
"  I  can't  make  Jack  romantic,  so  I  tried  to  stuff  him  to 
keep  him  good-natured.  That  is  always  the  next  best 
thing  with  a  man." 

"  Oh  ho !"  Uncle  Peabody  looked  shocked  as  he  drew 
a  chair  up  to  the  little  table.  "  So  I  have  come  right 
into  a  family  quarrel,  have  I?  Naughty,  naughty,  both 
of  you !" 

"  I  wish  I  could  quarrel  with  him,"  said  Helen,  "  but 
he  is  too  agreeable,  even  in  his  aggravating  moods." 

"  What  have  you  to  say  to  that  pretty  speech,  John 
Armstrong?"  asked  Uncle  Peabody. 

"What  can  I  say?"  answered  Jack,  between  mouth- 
fuls,  "  except  that,  speaking  for  myself,  I  am  always 
much  more  romantic  when  I  am  not  hungry.  If  Herself 
will  indulge  me  for  five  minutes  longer  I  will  promise 
to  be  as  sentimental  as  the  most  fastidious  could  desire." 

"I  do  not  care  for  .manufactured  sentiment,"  replied 
Helen ;  "  and  it  is  too  late  now  anyway,  for  my  own 
appetite  has  returned  and  my  anger  is  appeased." 

"  Miss  Thayer  evidently  has  not  returned  yet?"  vent 
ured  Uncle  Peabody,  interrogatively,  as  the  supper  pro 
gressed. 

"  Yes,  she  is  up-stairs  in  tears,  and  Ferdy  has  gone 
away  to  throw  himself  into  the  Arno,"  Helen  replied. 

"  Dear  me,  dear  me !"  murmured  Uncle  Peabody. 
"  What  a  pity !  I  am  not  sure  that  I  would  have  re 
turned  had  I  known  that  I  should  find  so  much  trouble." 

"  Now  that  you  have  had  this  much,  I  think  I  will 
let  you  in  for  the  rest,"  suggested  Armstrong.  "  I  will 
take  you  out  to  the  garage  after  you  have  finished." 

[92] 


THE    SPELL 


"  More  trouble  there?" 

"  Yes — punctured  a  tire  on  the  way  up  the  hill." 

"  And  you  never  said  a  word  about  it !"  cried  Helen. 
"  No  wonder  you  did  not  feel  romantic !" 

"  Good !  Peace  is  once  more  established,  which  is 
worth  more  than  a  new  tire.  Come,  my  appetite  is  satis 
fied — suppose  we  all  go  out  to  the  garage." 

Annetta  interrupted  their  progress  at  the  door. 

"  A  gentleman  to  see  the  sigriora,"  she  announced — 
"  the  same  gentleman  who  took  the  Signorina  Thayer  to 
ride  this  afternoon  —  and  would  the  signora  see  him 
alone?" 

"  Poor  Ferdy,"  Helen  sighed,  aloud.  "  He  wants  me 
to  intercede  for  him.  You  go  on,  Jack,  and  perhaps  I 
may  join  you  later.  Show  Mr.  De  Peyster  out  here, 
Annetta." 

Ferdinand  hardly  waited  to  be  ushered  through  the 
hallway.  He  was  visibly  suffering  as  he  approached 
Helen  with  outstretched  hand. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  Ferdy,"  was  all  she  could  say  before 
he  interrupted  her. 

"  Forgive  me,  Helen,  for  coming  to  you  before  I  have 
regained  control  of  myself;  but  I  have  made  a  sudden 
decision,  and  unless  I  carry  it  out  at  once  I  won't  be  able 
to  do  it." 

"  A  sudden  decision,  Ferdy  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  leaving  Florence  on  the  night  train  for 
Paris ;  but  I  could  not  go  without  seeing  you  again  and 
leaving  with  you  a  message  for — Inez." 

"  The  night  train  to-night  ?  Surely  you  are  not  going 
away  without  seeing  Inez  again?" 

Helen's  sympathy  was  strong  in  the  face  of  his  almost 
uncontrollable  emotion. 

[93] 


THE     SPELL 


"  Yes,  to-night,  Helen ;  and  I  shall  never  see  her  again 
unless  she  sends  for  me." 

"  But  what  has  happened  to  make  things  so  hopeless 
now?  She  has  refused  you  before,  Ferdy,  and  I  have 
always  admired  your  pluck  that  you  refused  to  give  her 
up." 

"  But  it  is  different  now — there  is  a  reason  why  I  must 
give  her  up.  There  was  none  before,  except  that  she 
did  not  think  she  cared  for  me.  I  was  certain  I  could 
make  her  do  that — in  time.  But  now — 

"  What  is  it  now  ?"     Her  interest  was  sincere. 

"  You  must  know,  Helen.  Why  do  you  pretend  that 
you  don't?" 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  I  am  not  pretending.  I 
know  of  nothing." 

De  Peyster  was  incredulous.  "  It's  all  right,  Helen. 
We  men  would  do  the  same  thing,  I  suppose,  to  pro 
tect  another  chap's  secret;  but  it  is  pretty  rough  on  me, 
just  the  same." 

Helen's  mystification  was  complete.  "  Look  here, 
Ferdy,"  she  said ;  "  this  has  gone  too  far.  Inez  has 
evidently  confided  to  you  something  which  she  has  never 
told  me.  I  have  not  had  a  word  with  her  since  she  re 
turned,  and  I  know  nothing  of  what  has  happened  ex 
cept  what  I  have  surmised." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Inez  has  been  here  all 
this  time  as  your  guest  without  your  knowing  that  she 
has  fallen  in  love  with  some  one  over  here?" 

"  Inez  in  love !  Ferdy,  you  are  crazy !  Who  is  it, 
and  where  did  she  meet  him?" 

"  I  don't  know — she  would  not  tell  me,  but  it  is  some 
one  she  has  met  over  here." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  She  must  have  said  it 
[94] 


THE    SPELL 


to    make    you    understand   that    she    could    not    marry 
you." 

Ferdinand  shook  his  head.  "  No.  A  girl  could  fool 
me  on  some  things,  I  suppose;  hut  when  she  speaks  as 
Inez  spoke  she  means  every  word  she  says.  '  I  do  love 
some  one  else,'  she  said,  '  and  I  love  him  better  than  my 
life.'  Do  you  think  Inez  would  say  that  if  she  did  not 
mean  it,  Helen?" 

Helen  leaned  against  the  arm  of  the  settle.  "  I  don't 
understand  it,  Ferdy — I  don't  understand  it." 

"  But  I  do,  and  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  see  her 
again  or  to  stay  here  in  Florence.  I  will  not  trouble  her 
again  unless  she  sends  for  me — anything  sent  in  care 
of  Coutts  will  always  reach  me.  Or  after  she  is  married, 
and  I  am  myself  again,  I  would  like  to  see  her  and  con 
gratulate — him.  Forgive  me,  Helen,  I  am  all  unstrung 
to-night.  Good-bye." 

De  Peyster  was  gone  before  Helen  realized  it.  She 
sank  upon  the  settle  and  rested  her  face  on  her  hand. 
Inez  in  love,  and  with  some  one  she  had  met  in 
Italy  !  Who  was  it  —  when  was  it  ?  She  had  come  di 
rectly  to  the  villa  upon  her  arrival.  She  had  said 
that  she  had  met  no  one  who  interested  her  on  the 
steamer.  In  Florence  she  had  met  no  one  otherwise  than 
casually.  All  her  time  had  been  spent  either  with  her 
or  with  Jack.  Helen  lifted  her  head  suddenly.  "  With 
Jack,"  she  repeated  to  herself.  She  rose  quickly  and 
looked  off  into  the  distance.  The  last  bright  rays  were 
disappearing  behind  San  Miniato.  "  I  love  him  better 
than  my  life,"  Inez  had  said  to  Ferdinand.  Helen 
grasped  the  railing  of  the  balustrade  for  support. 
"With  Jack!"  she  repeated  again.  "Oh  no,  no,  no — 
not  that !"  she  cried  aloud—"  not  that !" 

[95] 


VIII 


"~~I  TOW  is  the  work  at  the  library  progressing?" 
Helen  asked  her  husband  at  breakfast  a  few 
mornings  later. 

"  Famously,"  Armstrong  replied,  pleased  that  she  had 
referred  to  the  subject. 

"  Is  it  nearly  finished  ?" 

"Finished?"  Jack  laughed  indulgently.  "  You  evi 
dently  don't  realize  what  a  big  thing  I  have  undertaken. 
I  find  myself  appalled  by  its  possibilities." 

"  Indeed."  Uncle  Peabody  looked  up  surprised. 
"  Does  this  mean  that  you  are  likely  to  lengthen  your 
stay  in  Florence  beyond  your  original  plans?" 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  Armstrong  replied.  "  We  have 
been  here  less  than  a  month  now,  and  I  ought  to  be  able 
to  put  my  material  into  shape  during  the  two  months 
which  remain  —  especially  with  the  splendid  assistance 
Miss  Thayer  is  giving  me.  I  can  add  the  finishing 
touches  after  we  return  home,  if  necessary." 

"  Will  it  take  as  long  as  that?"  asked  Helen,  her  color 
mounting. 

"  Surely  you  are  not  counting  upon  me  for  any  such 
length  of  time!"  exclaimed  Inez,  almost  in  the  same 
breath.  "  My  cousins  are  expecting  me  to  join  them  in 
Berlin  any  day  now." 

"  You  would  not  desert  your  post  of  duty  ?" 
[96] 


THE    SPELL 


"  I  must  follow  the  direction  toward  which  it  points." 

"  Just  what  is  this  '  big  thing  '  you  have  undertaken  ?" 
interrupted  Uncle  Peabody.  "  You  forget  that  I  have 
not  yet  been  taken  into  your  confidence." 

Armstrong  turned  to  his  questioner  seriously.  "  I 
have  really  stumbled  upon  something  which  has  not  been 
done  before  and  which  ought  to  have  been  undertaken 
long  ago.  You  see,  Cerini  has  there  at  the  library  hun 
dreds  of  letters  which  belong  to  the  Buonarroti  archives. 
Many  of  them  were  written  by  Michelangelo,  and  many 
more  were  written  to  him.  The  correspondence  is  be 
tween  him  and  men  in  all  walks  of  life — popes,  kings, 
princes,  tradesmen,  and  even  some  from  the  workmen  in 
the  Carrara  quarries." 

"  And  you  and  Miss  Thayer  are  translating  these  let 
ters?"  Uncle  Peabody  anticipated. 

"  Yes ;  but  that  is  not  the  work  which  most  interests 
me,  except  indirectly.  Any  number  of  volumes  have 
been  published  upon  the  life  and  manners  and  customs 
of  every  age  before  and  since  that  in  which  Michelangelo 
lived,  yet  practically  nothing  concerning  this  particular 
period.  The  artistic  importance  of  the  epoch  has  been 
written  up  with  minute  detail,  but  the  intimate  life  of 
the  people  and  its  significance  seems  to  have  been 
wholly  overlooked — probably  because  it  was  overshadow 
ed.  Very  few  of  these  letters  have  ever  been  printed, 
and  they  ought  to  form  the  basis  of  a  great  work  upon 
this  subject.  Cerini  has  turned  them  over  to  me  to  see 
what  I  can  do  with  them.  At  first  I  started  with  the 
idea  of  going  through  everything  myself,  but  that  would 
be  a  hopeless  task  unless  we  plan  to  live  in  Florence  in 
definitely.  Now,  Miss  Thayer  reads  over  the  letters  and 
takes  out  the  important  data,  leaving  me  free  to  work 
1  [97] 


THE     SPELL 


on  the  book  itself.  We  are  really  making  splendid 
progress,  and  I  shall  be  bitterly  disappointed  if  Miss 
Thayer  has  to  go  away  and  leave  me  to  finish  it  alone." 

"  I  am  sure  Inez  will  stay  as  long  as  she  can,  Jack," 
Helen  said,  quietly.  "  She  knows  how  welcome  she  has 
been,  but  we  must  not  urge  her  beyond  what  she  thinks 
is  best." 

She  broke  off  suddenly:  then,  with  an  assumed  non 
chalance,  said :  "  I  wonder  if  I  could  not  help  in  some 
way  and  thus  get  the  work  completed  just  that  much 
sooner.  Of  course,  I  don't  understand  Italian,  but  per 
haps  I  could  do  some  copying  or  something.  Don't  you 
think  three  would  accomplish  more  than  two,  Jack,  even 
if  one  of  them  was  a  weak  sister?" 

Helen  looked  over  to  her  husband  with  obvious  ex 
pectancy,  but  she  could  not  fail  to  notice  the  momentary 
hush. 

"  I  know  how  ridiculous  my  proposition  sounds,"  she 
continued,  bravely,  "  but  I  would  really  like  to  try." 

"  Why,  of  course,"  Armstrong  replied,  hastily. 
"  Miss  Thayer's  suggestion  to  leave  and  your  willingness 
at  last  to  come  to  my  rescue  have  combined  to  give  me 
two  unexpected  shocks— one  unpleasant,  the  other  de 
lightful.  Let  me  see.  Miss  Thayer  and  I  have  been 
developing  a  kind  of  team  work,  so  this  means  a  little  re 
adjustment." 

"  Never  mind,  if  it  is  not  perfectly  convenient." 
Helen  made  an  effort  to  appear  indifferent. 

"  Of  course  it  is  convenient,"  Jack  hastened  to  add, 
ashamed  of  his  hesitation.  "  You  know  how  much  I  have 
wanted  you  to  do  this,  and  I  am  perfectly  delighted.  I 
am  sure  it  can  be  arranged  and  that  you  can  help  us  a 
great  deal." 

[98] 


THE     SPELL 


"  I  wish  you  knew  Italian,  Helen,  so  that  you  could 
take  my  place,"  added  Inez.  "  Then  Mr.  Armstrong 
would  not  accuse  me  of  deserting  my  post  of  duty." 

"  Not  at  all,"  protested  Armstrong,  impulsively. 
"  Even  then  I  could  not  get  along  without  your  assist 
ance.  We  can  easily  find  something  for  Helen  to  do 
which  will  help  the  work  along  and  encourage  her  in 
her  budding  enthusiasm.  This  is  splendid !  Helen  in 
terested  at  last  in  my  dusty  old  divinities !  Perhaps  we 
can  even  infect  Uncle  Peabody." 

«  Perhaps,"  assented  Uncle  Peabody ;  "  but  for  the 
present  I  shall  devote  myself  to  my  own  researches — even 
though  your  masterpiece  is  forced  to  suffer  thereby. 
But  I  will  ride  down  with  you  as  far  as  the  Duomo." 

No  one  in  the  automobile,  unless  it  was  the  chauffeur, 
could  help  feeling  a  certain  tenseness  in  the  situation  as 
the  car  conveyed  the  party  to  its  destination.  Helen's 
action  was  the  result  of  a  sudden  decision,  quite  at  vari 
ance  with  all  the  conclusions  at  which  she  had  arrived 
during  the  wakeful  hours  of  the  preceding  nights.  Arm 
strong  had  so  long  since  given  up  all  thought  of  having 
his  wife  co-operate  with  him  in  this  particular  expression 
of  himself,  and  the  work  upon  which  he  and  Miss  Thayer 
were  engaged  had  settled  down  into  so  regular  a  routine, 
that  he  was  really  disturbed  by  Helen's  change  of  base, 
although  he  had  been  entirely  unwilling  to  admit  it. 
Inez  inwardly  resented  the  intrusion,  at  the  same  time 
blaming  herself  severely  for  her  attitude;  and  Uncle 
Peabody,  who  saw  in  the  whole  affair  only  a  clever  ruse 
on  Helen's  part  instigated  by  a  tardily  aroused  jealousy, 
was  in  danger,  for  the  first  time,  of  not  knowing  just 
what  to  do. 

As  a  result  of  all  these  conflicting  emotions,  the  efforts 
[99] 


THE    SPELL 


at  conversation  during  the  ride  would  have  seemed  ludi 
crous  had  the  situation  been  less  serious.  Armstrong 
kept  up  a  continuous  and  irrelevant  conversation  into 
which  each  of  the  others  joined  weakly  with  equal  ir 
relevance.  Each  was  trying  to  talk  and  think  at  the 
same  time.  The  car  reached  the  Piazza  del  Duomo  almost 
abruptly,  as  it  seemed,  and  Uncle  Peabody  alighted  with 
considerable  alacrity,  waving  a  good-bye  which  was  me 
chanically  acknowledged  as  the  machine  slowly  moved 
into  the  narrow  Borgo  San  Lorenzo.  At  the  library, 
Armstrong  led  the  way  through  the  cloister  and  up  the 
stone  stairs  to  the  little  door  where  Maritelli  was  this 
time  waiting  to  give  them  entrance. 

"  I  will  take  you  to  meet  Cerini,"  said  Armstrong. 

"  While  I,"  interrupted  Inez,  "  will  seek  out  our  table 
and  get  all  in  readiness  for  our  triple  labors." 

A  gentle  voice  called  "  Avanti,"  in  answer  to  Jack's 
tap  upon  the  door  of  Cerini's  study,  and  the  old  man 
rose  hastily  as  he  saw  a  new  figure  by  Armstrong's 
side. 

"  My  wife,  padre."  Jack  smiled  at  the  admiration  in 
Cerini's  face  as  he  took  Helen's  hand  and  raised  it  to 
his  lips.  "  She  could  not  longer  resist  the  magnet  which 
draws  us  to  you  and  to  your  treasures." 

"  Your  wife,"  repeated  the  old  man,  looking  from 
Helen  to  Armstrong.  "  I  have  looked  forward  to  this 
day  when  I  might  meet  her  here.  But  where  is  your 
sister-worker?  Surely  she  has  not  given  up  the  splendid 
task  which  she  has  so  well  begun  ?" 

Helen  flushed  consciously  at  Cerini's  praise  of  Inez. 
"  No,  father ;  Miss  Thayer  is  already  at  her  work,  and 
Mr.  Armstrong  is  equally  eager  to  return  to  it.  May 
I  not  stay  a  little  while  with  you?" 

[100] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Have  you  time  to  show  her  some  of  the  things  here 
which  we  know  and  love  so  well?"  asked  Armstrong. 

"  Most  certainly." 

He  turned  to  Helen.  "  If  you  will  accept  my  guid 
ance  we  can  let  these  humanists  resume  their  labors 
while  we  enjoy  the  accomplishments  of  those  who  have 
gone  before." 

Armstrong  left  them,  and  Cerini  conducted  Helen 
through  the  library,  explaining  to  her  the  various  objects 
of  interest.  It  was  quite  apparent  to  Helen  that  the 
old  man  was  studying  her  minutely,  and  she  felt  ill  at 
ease  in  spite  of  his  unfailing  courtesy. 

"  You  have  known  my  husband  for  a  long  while,  have 
you  not?"  Helen  asked  as  they  passed  from  one  case  to 
another. 

"  Yes,  indeed  —  even  before  he  came  to  know  him 
self." 

"  Then  you  must  know  him  very  well." 

Helen  smiled,  but  the  old  man  was  serious. 

"  Better  than  you  know  him,  even  though  you  are 
his  wife.  But  see  this  choir-book.  It  was  illuminated 
by  Lorenzo  Monaco,  teacher  of  Fra  Angelico.  Can  any 
thing  be  more  wonderful  than  these  miniatures,  in  the 
beauty  of  their  line  and  color?" 

Helen  assented  with  a  show  of  interest,  but  she  was 
not  thinking  of  the  blazoned  page  before  her.  The  old 
man's  words  were  burning  in  her  heart.  Passing  through 
a  smaller  room  to  reach  Cerini's  study,  they  came  sud 
denly  to  a  corner  lighted  only  by  a  small  window  where 
Armstrong  and  Inez  were  at  work.  So  intent  were  they 
that  the  approach  of  Helen  and  the  librarian  had  not 
been  noticed.  Cerini  held  up  his  hand  warningly. 

"  Quiet !"  he  commanded,  softly.  "  Let  us  not  dis- 
[101] 


THE     SPELL 


turb  them.  I  have  never  seen  two  individualities  cast  in 
so  identical  a  mould.  One  sometimes  sees  it  in  two  men, 
but  rarely  in  a  man  and  a  woman." 

Helen  felt  her  breath  come  faster  as  she  watched  them 
for  a  moment  longer.  Inez  was  pointing  out  something 
in  the  text  of  the  original  letter  which  lay  before  them. 
Armstrong's  head  was  bent,  studying  it  intently.  Then 
Inez  spoke,  and  her  companion  answered  loud  enough 
for  Helen  to  hear. 

"  Splendid !  And  to  think  that  we  are  the  first  ones 
to  put  these  facts  together!" 

The  expression  of  sheer  joy  upon  her  husband's  face 
held  Helen  spellbound,  and  Cerini  was  obliged  to  repeat 
his  suggestion  that  they  return  to  his  study  by  another 
route. 

"  It  is  just  as  you  have  seen  it,  day  after  dajV  said 
the  librarian  as  he  closed  the  door  quietly,  and  Helen 
seated  herself  in  the  Savonarola  chair  beside  his  desk. 
"  When  I  heard  from  him  that  he  was  to  be  married  I 
hoped  that  his  wife  might  be  able  to  enter  into  this  jo}r 
of  his  life ;  but,  since  that  could  not  be,  it  is  well  that 
he  has  found  a  friend  so  s}'mpathetic." 

Helen  told  herself  that  the  old  man  could  not  intend 
deliberately  to  wound  her  as  he  was  doing. 

"  Why  are  you  so  sure  that  his  wife  cannot  enter  into 
it  also?"  she  asked,  quietty. 

Cerini  looked  at  her  in  evident  surprise.  "  Because 
what  I  have  seen  during  these  weeks,  and  what  you  have 
seen  to-day,  can  happen  but  once  in  a  lifetime.  You 
are  more  beautiful  than  his  companion,  but  you  arc  not 
so  intellectual." 

It  was  impossible  to  take  offence  at  the  old  man's 
frankness  because  of  his  absolute  sincerity.  He  spoke 

[102] 


THE    SPELL 


of  her  beauty  exactly  as  he  spoke  of  one  of  the  mag 
nificent  bindings  he  had  just  shown  her,  and  of  Inez' 
intellectuality  as  if  it  were  the  content  of  one  of  his 
priceless  tomes. 

"  I  came  to  the  library  to-day  for  the  definite  pur 
pose  of  joining  in  their  work —  '  Helen  began,  hesitat 
ingly. 

"  Surely  not !"  replied  Cerini,  emphatically.  "  You 
would  not  disturb  thpse  labors  which  mean  so  much  in 
the  development  of  them  both  ?  It  would  mean  stopping 
them  where  they  are." 

"  Could  I  not  assist  them  at  some  point,  even  to  a 
slight  extent,  and  participate  in  this  development  my 
self?" 

Cerini  was  mildly  indulgent  at  her  lack  of  under 
standing.  "  My  daughter,"  he  said,  kindly,  "  some  one 
has  written  that  it  is  no  kindness  to  a  spider,  no  matter 
how  gentle  the  touch,  to  aid  it  in  the  spinning  of  its 
web.  Any  one  can  work  at  translating,  truly — almost 
any  one  can  write  a  book — but  few  can  accomplish  what 
your  husband  and  Miss  Thayer  are  doing  now.  The 
book  they  are  engaged  upon  in  itself  is  the  least  of 
value.  They  do  not  themselves  realize,  as  I  do,  that 
it  is  the  influence  of  this  work  upon  their  own  charac 
ters  which  is  making  it  a  success.  They  were  humanists 
before  they  knew  the  meaning  of  the  word.  They  come 
into  the  highest  expression  of  themselves  here  in  this 
atmosphere.  You  were  born  for  other  things,  my  daugh 
ter — perhaps  far  more  important  things — but  not  for 
this." 

"  You  cannot  understand,  father,"  Helen  replied, 
desperately.  "  I  am  his  wife,  and  it  is  rny  place,  rather 
than  that  of  any  other  woman,  to  share  with  him  any 

[1031 


THE     SPELL 


development  which  affects  his  life  as  deeply  as  you  say 
this  does.  It  must  be  so." 

"  Forgive  me  if  I  offend  you,  but  this  is  not  a  matter 
which  you  or  I  can  settle.  It  is  perhaps  natural  that 
I  cannot  understand  your  viewpoint.  The  nature  of 
my  life  and  work  gives  me  little  knowledge  of  women ; 
but  this  is  not  a  question  of  sex — it  is  the  kinship  of  in 
tellects.  You  are  his  wife,  and,  as  you  say,  it  is  your 
privilege  to  share  with  your  husband  any  development, 
but  it  must  be  along  a  path  which  you  are  able  to  tread. 
I  mean  this  in  no  unkind  way,  my  daughter.  I  doubt 
not  that  you,  perhaps,  in  all  other  ways,  are  quite  ca 
pable  of  doing  so,  but  this  one  single  portion  of  his  life 
it  is  quite  impossible  that  you  should  share." 

Helen  had  no  response.  Her  heart  told  her  that  all 
Cerini  said  was  literally  true.  She  felt  herself  to  be  ab 
solutely  unfitted  to  understand  or  to  supplement  that 
particular  expression  of  her  husband's  character.  But 
the  matter-of-fact  suggestion  of  the  librarian  that  Inez 
should  fulfil  to  him  that  which  she, his  wife,  lacked, almost 
paralyzed  her  power  to  think  or  speak.  Cerini  seemed  in 
stinctively  to  read  what  was  passing  through  her  mind. 

"  You  think  me  unreal,  my  daughter — you  think  me 
impractical.  I  may  be  both.  Here,  within  these  old 
walls,  I  am  not  limited  by  the  world's  conventions,  so 
perhaps  I  disregard  them  more  than  is  right.  Those 
whom  I  love  signify  nothing  to  me  as  to  their  personal 
appearance  or  their  families  or  their  personalities  ex 
cept  in  so  far  as  these  attributes  may  be  expressions  of 
themselves.  Life  to  me  would  not  be  worth  the  living 
if  in  debating  whether  or  not  I  ought  to  do  a  certain 
thing  I  was  obliged  to  consider  also  what  the  world 
would  think  or  what  some  other  person  might  think. 

[104] 


THE     SPELL 


Let  me  ask  you  a  question :  Was  your  motive  in  coming 
here  this  morning  the  result  of  a  desire  to  put  yourself 
in  touch  with  the  spirit  of  your  husband's  work,  or  was 
it  to  separate  these  two  persons  in  the  labor  they  have 
undertaken  ?" 

Cerini's  question  brought  Helen  to  herself. 

"  If  you  are  really  free  from  the  world's  conventions," 
she  responded,  quickly,  "  you  will  understand  my  answer. 
My  husband  is  every  tiling  to  me  that  a  wife  could  ask, 
and  his  happiness  is  the  highest  object  my  life  contains. 
Miss  Thayer  is  the  dearest  friend  I  have,  and  my  af 
fection  for  her  is  second  only  to  the  love  I  bear  my  hus 
band.  While  this  side  of  his  nature  was  not  unknown 
to  me,  until  we  came  to  Florence — even  until  to-day — I 
have  never  fully  appreciated  its  intensity.  Yet  when  I 
feel  that  to  a  certain  extent,  at  least,  his  welfare  depends 
upon  a  gratification  of  this  expression,  is  it  unnatural 
that  I,  his  wife,  should  wish  to  be  the  one  person  to  ex 
perience  that  development  with  him  ?" 

"  You  did  not  feel  this  strong  desire  when  you  first 
came  to  Florence?" 

"  I  did  not  understand  it." 

"  Would  your  present  comprehension  have  come  at  all 
if  his  companion  had  been  a  man  rather  than  a  woman  ?" 

Helen  flushed.  "  You  are  not  so  free  from  the  world's 
conventions  as  you  think." 

"  But  you  do  not  answer  the  question,"  the  old  man 
pursued,  relentlessly. 

"  You  think,  then,  that  my  desire  is  prompted  by 
jealousy?  Let  us  speak  frankly,"  continued  Helen  as 
Cerini  held  up  his  hand  deprecatingly.  "  The  distinction 
in  my  own  mind  may  be  a  fine  one  and  difficult  for  an 
other  to  comprehend,  but  I  can  say  truly  that  no  jealous 

[105] 


THE     SPELL 


thought  has  entered  into  any  of  my  considerations.  I 
could  not  love  my  husband  and  be  jealous  of  him  at  the 
same  time.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  probably  quite  true 
that  were  his  companion  a  man  I  should  not  have  recog 
nized  so  strongly  the  importance  of  joining  him  in  this 
particular  work." 

Cerini  rose  quietly,  and  took  from  the  bookcase  near 
his  desk  a  copy  of  a  modern  classic. 

"  The  author  has  expressed  an  idea  here  which  I  think 
explains  your  position  exactly."  He  turned  the  pages 
quickly.  "  See  here,"  he  said,  drawing  closer  to  Helen 
and  pointing  to  a  paragraph  marked  with  a  double  score 
in  the  margin.  "  '  No  man  objects  to  the  admiration  his 
wife  receives  from  his  friends ;  it  is  the  woman  herself 
who  makes  the  trouble.'  Now  I  suppose  the  reverse  of 
that  proposition  is  equally  true." 

Helen  smiled.  "  You  mean  that  the  reason  I  am  not 
jealous  of  my  husband  in  this  instance  is  because  he  has 
given  me  no  occasion?" 

"  Exactly." 

"  That  is  perfectly  true." 

"  But  you  fear  that  it  may  not  always  be  true  ?" 

Helen  was  no  match  for  the  old  man  in  argument, 
yet  she  struggled  to  meet  him. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said ;  "  there  is  always  that  danger. 
Why  not  avoid  it  by  making  this  other  companionship 
unnecessary  ?" 

"  But  suppose  you  yourself  are  not  temperamentally 
fitted  to  gratify  this  particular  craving  in  your  hus 
band's  life?"  Cerini  watched  the  effect  of  his  words 
upon  his  companion.  She  was  silent  for  several  moments 
before  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his. 

"  I  know  that  you  arc  right,"  she  answered,  simply. 
[106] 


THE     SPELL 


"  I  have  felt  it  always,  but  my  husband  has  insisted  that 
in  my  case  it  was  lack  of  application  rather  than  of 
temperament.  I  came  here  to  -  day  to  try  the  experi 
ment,  and  you  have  shown  me  that  my  own  judgment 
is  correct." 

"  It  is  correct,"  agreed  Cerini,  delighted  by  Helen's 
unexpected  acquiescence.  "  It  was  your  husband's  heart 
rather  than  his  head  which  led  him  astray  in  his  ad 
vice.  You  have  just  shown  me  your  intelligence  by  com 
ing  so  promptly  to  this  conclusion ;  now  you  are  going 
to  manifest  your  devotion  to  him  by  leaving  him  undis 
turbed  in  this  work  which  he  has  undertaken.  It  can 
only  last  during  a  limited  period  at  best.  It  is  the  ex 
pression  of  but  one  side  of  his  nature.  Before  many 
weeks  have  passed  you  and  he  will  be  returning  to  your 
great  country  into  a  complexity  of  conditions  where  this 
experience  will  become  only  a  memory.  These  conditions 
will  call  to  the  surface  the  expression  of  his  other  char 
acteristics  into  which  you  can  fully  enter.  By  not  in 
terfering  with  this  character-building  now  going  on, 
you,  his  wife,  will  later  reap  rich  returns." 

A  tap  sounded  on  the  door  of  the  study. 

"  There  is  your  husband  now,"  said  Cerini,  taking 
Helen's  hand.  "  Tell  me  that  you  forgive  me  for  my 
frankness." 

Helen  pressed  his  hand  silently  as  he  turned  from  her 
to  admit  Armstrong. 

"  Here  you  are!"  cried  Jack,  as  he  entered  with  Inez. 
"  We  became  so  engrossed  that  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I 
completely  forgot  our  new  convert." 

"  Your  forgetfulncss  has  given  me  the  opportunity  to 
become  well  acquainted  with  your  charming  wife,"  replied 
Cerini.  "  Is  your  work  completed  for  the  day?" 

[107] 


THE     SPELL 


"  Yes,  but  we  shall  be  at  it  again  to-morrow.  You  will 
come  with  us  of  course?"  he  asked,  turning  to  his  wife. 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure,  Jack,"  Helen  replied.  "  Mon- 
signor  Cerini  has  suggested  to  me  another  way  in  which 
I  can  help  you,  which  may  prove  to  be  equally  impor 
tant." 

She  turned  to  Inez  with  an  unflinching  smile.  "  Our 
friend  has  been  explaining  to  me  the  nature  of  what  you 
and  Jack  are  doing  together.  You  must  certainly  plan 
to  stay  on  for  a  while  longer.  I  am  sure  Jack  could 
never  finish  it  without  you." 


IX 


THE  human  heart  can  play  no  more  difficult  role 
than  to  keep  on  with  its  every-day  monotonous 
pulsations,  so  far  as  the  world  sees,  when  in  reality 
every  throb  is  a  measured  duration  of  infinite  pain.  Ten 
days  had  passed  since  De  Peyster  had  so  unconsciously 
been  the  cause  of  completely  changing  the  even  tenor  of 
Helen's  existence,  and  during  this  time  she  had  drifted 
helplessly  in  the  deep  waters  of  uncertainty.  What  was 
the  wise  thing  to  do?  Helen  knew  Inez  too  well  to  de 
ceive  herself  into  thinking  that  what  was  said  to  Ferdi 
nand  had  been  simply  an  expedient  to  accomplish  his 
dismissal,  and  her  observations  since  then  had  confirmed 
her  early  convictions.  Inez  was  in  love  with  Jack.  Jack 
was  obviously  fond  of  her  companionship.  Their  work 
in  the  library  had  brought  them  constantly  together, 
and  at  home  an  increasing  proportion  of  the  time  had 
been  devoted  to  a  consideration  and  discussion  of  the 
various  topics  which  had  developed  and  into  which  Helen 
did  not  enter.  Yet  there  was  nothing  in  all  this  which 
was  not  perfectly  natural ;  in  fact,  it  was,  as  Helen  said 
to  herself,  wholly  the  outcome  of  what  she  had  originally 
suggested. 

Helen's  convictions  regarding  Inez  were  confirmed,  not 
by  what  her  friend  did,  but  rather  by  the  efforts  she 
made  to  avoid  doing  certain  things.  Never  for  an  in- 

[109] 


THE     SPELL 


stant  did  Helen  question  Inez'  loyalty  to  her,  and  she 
could  scarcely  refrain  from  entering  into  the  tremendous 
struggle  in  which  she  saw  her  engaged.  Each  woman's 
heart  was  passing  through  fire,  and  Helen  felt  a  new  and 
strange  bond  of  sympathy  between  her  friend  and  her 
self  because  of  their  mutual  suffering.  But  the  struggle 
must  continue.  Helen  must  come  to  some  decision  wiser 
than  any  which  had  yet  suggested  itself  to  her  before 
disclosing  to  any  one,  and  to  Inez  least  of  all,  that  she 
possessed  any  knowledge  of  the  situation. 

Fortunately,  at  this  crisis,  the  automobile  became  the 
controlling  excitement.  During  the  intervening  days 
Jack  had  resisted  the  temptation,  devoting  himself  as 
siduously  to  his  self-appointed  task,  and  satisfying  him 
self  with  short  excursions  after  his  labors  at  the  library- 
were  over.  Now  he  could  resist  no  longer.  The  book 
was  assuming  definite  proportions,  and,  as  he  explained 
to  himself  and  the  others,  the  work  would  be  all  the  bet 
ter  for  a  little  holiday.  So  it  was  that  the  Armstrongs, 
with  Miss  Thayer  and  Uncle  Peabody,  made  runs  to 
Siena,  Padua,  and  to  all  the  smaller  towns  less  frequented 
by  visitors  and  consequently  of  greater  interest.  Miss 
Thayer  forgot  in  the  excitement  the  experience  she  was 
passing  through ;  Uncle  Peabody  forgot  Luigi  Cornaro 
and  the  Japanese ;  Armstrong,  for  the  time  being,  ap 
peared  indifferent  to  the  hitherto  compelling  interests  at 
the  library ;  and  Helen,  at  intervals,  forgot  her  suffer 
ing  and  the  heavy  burden  which  lay  upon  her  heart  in  her 
feeling  of  helplessness.  New  sensations,  in  this  twentieth 
century,  are  rare,  and  the  automobile  is  to  be  credited 
with  supplying  many.  The  exhilaration,  the  abandon, 
which  comes  with  the  utter  annihilation  of  time  and 
space,  forces  even  those  affairs  of  life  which  previously 

[110] 


THE    SPELL 


had  been  thought  important  to  become  miserably  com 
monplace.  The  danger  itself  is  not  the  least  of  the  fas 
cination. 

"  I  would  rather  be  killed  once  a  week  in  an  auto 
mobile,"  asserted  Uncle  Peabody  while  the  fever  was  on 
him,  "  than  die  the  one  ordinary  death  allotted  to  man." 

With  the  temporary  cessation  of  the  library  work, 
there  had  been  no  occasion  for  separate  interests.  This, 
Helen  felt,  was  most  fortunate,  as  it  gave  her  ample 
opportunity  to  arrive  at  her  conclusions.  It  was  all  her 
own  fault,  she  repeated  to  herself  over  and  over  again. 
Had  she  made  an  earlier  effort  to  enter  into  Jack's  in 
terests,  even  though  it  had  proved  her  inability,  mat 
ters  need  never  have  arrived  at  so  serious  a  pass.  Now 
she  was  convinced  that  it  was  too  late  to  become  a  part 
of  them;  she  had  done  an  irreparable  injury  to  Inez, 
whom  she  loved  as  a  sister,  and  had  taken  chances  on 
disrupting  her  own  and  her  husband's  domestic  hap 
piness. 

"  As  Jack  said,  I  have  found  a  cloud  in  the  cloudless 
sky,"  she  thought. — "  And  poor  Inez !" 

Thus  the  burden  resolved  itself  into  two  parts — solic 
itude  for  Inez  and  how  best  to  undo  the  harm  Helen 
felt  she  had  wrought.  Her  first  attempt  had  proved  a 
failure,  and  she  could  not  see  the  next  step.  While  the 
motoring  fever  lasted  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
plan;  for  the  excitement  was  infectious,  and  one  trip 
followed  another  in  rapid  succession.  Household  regu 
larity  became  conspicuous  by  its  absence.  Meals  were 
served  at  all  hours  and  were  rushed  through  with  reck 
less  haste,  entirely  upsetting  Uncle  Peabody's  theories. 

"  You  treat  your  stomach  like  a  trunk,"  he  protested 
to  Armstrong  one  morning,  "  and  you  throw  the  food 

[111] 


THE     SPELL 


into  it  just  about  the  way  an  average  man  does  his  pack 
ing." 

"  But  you  finish  your  breakfast  just  as  soon  as  any 
of  us,"  was  the  retort. 

"  Yes,  but  if  you  observe  carefully  you  will  note  that 
I  actually  eat  about  one-quarter  as  much  as  you  do  in 
the  same  given  time.  And  what  I  have  eaten  will  satisfy 
me  about  four  times  as  long,  because  I  have  thoroughly 
masticated  it  and  assimilated  all  the  nourishing  portions 
of  the  food.  When  I  think  of  the  gymnastic  perform 
ances  your  poor  stomach  must  go  through  in  order  to 
tear  into  shreds  the  chunks  of  food  you  have  bolted  down 
I  admit  my  sympathy  is  fully  aroused." 

"  Sympathy  is  always  grateful,"  Armstrong  replied, 
unconvinced,  "  but  every  moment  we  lose  discussing  nu 
trition  is  a  moment  taken  off  the  finest  trip  we  have  tried 
yet.  The  car  is  in  splendid  condition,  the  weather  is 
ideal,  and  Pisa  awaits  us  at  the  other  end  of  our  ex 
cursion." 

"  So  it  is  to  be  Pisa,  is  it?"  Uncle  Pcabody  arose. 
"  Do  you  know,  Jack,  I  like  you  for  the  way  you  plan 
these  charming  rides,  and  that  almost  makes  up  for  your 
lack  of  judgment  in  some  other  directions.  An  ordinary 
man  would  spend  at  least  the  day  before  in  studying 
maps,  asking  advice,  and  in  making  plans  generally. 
You,  on  the  contrary,  wait  until  breakfast  is  over,  throw 
down  your  napkin,  and  then  with  a  proper  show  of  im 
patience  say,  '  Why  do  you  keep  me  waiting?  The  car 
is  ready  to  take  us  to  the  moon.'  All  this  fits  in  exactly 
with  my  principles :  it  is  the  unexpected  which  always 
brings  satisfaction." 

"  Uncle's  praise  is  distinctly  a  man's  approval,"  Helen 
protested.  "  From  a  woman's  standpoint  Jack's  methods 

[112] 


THE     SPELL 


represent  the  acme  of  tyranny.  No  inquiries  as  to  where 
we  prefer  to  be  spirited,  no  suggestions  that  our  opinions 
are  worth  consulting,  no  suspicion  that  we  are  other  than 
clay  in  the  potter's  hands ;  simply,  '  The  machine  is 
ready.  Please  hurry.'  Yes,  we  are  coming,"  Helen 
hurriedly  added,  seeing  Jack's  impatience  over  the  ban 
tering,  "  we  are  coming !" 

Giuseppe,  Annetta,  and  the  cook  were  avowed  enemies 
of  the  motor-car,  not  only  because  of  the  effect  it  had 
produced  upon  the  household  arrangements,  but  also  be 
cause  of  the  intrusion  of  the  French  chauffeur  which  it 
had  forced  upon  them.  They  would  die  rather  than  show 
the  slightest  interest  in  it,  yet  on  one  pretext  or  another 
they  never  allowed  the  machine  to  start  out  without  re 
garding  it  with  secret  admiration  and  respect.  Giuseppe, 
on  this  particular  morning,  was  gathering  roses  on  the 
terrace,  Annetta  was  closing  a  shutter  on  the  veranda, 
while  the  cook's  red  face  peered  around  the  corner  of  the 
villa.  Giuseppe  crossed  himself  as  the  engine  started  up, 
then  jumped  and  fell  squarely  into  his  rose-basket  as  the 
chauffeur  maliciously  pressed  the  bulb,  and  the  machine 
moved  majestically  past  him,  out  of  the  court -yard,  and 
into  the  narrow  road. 

"  I  don't  blame  these  people  for  resenting  the  invasion 
of  motor-cars  and  other  evidences  of  modern  progress," 
said  Inez  as  they  reached  the  level ;  "  it  is  all  so  out  of 
keeping  with  everything  around  them  and  with  every 
thing  they  have  been  brought  up  to  regard  as  right  and 
proper." 

"  But '  these  people  '  represent  only  one  portion  of  the 
Italians,  Miss  Thayer,"  replied  Uncle  Peabody.  "  Ital 
ian  civic  life  contains  two  great  contrasting  factors — 
one  practical,  the  other  ideal.  Each  in  its  way  is  proud 
8  [113J 


THE     SPELL 


of  the  past ;  the  first  thinks  more  of  the  present  and  the 
future,  while  the  second,  opposed  on  principle  to  innova 
tions,  only  accepts,  and  then  under  protest,  those  which 
come  from  Italian  sources.  This  car  we  are  riding  in 
is  of  French  manufacture.  Were  it  Italian,  you  would 
find  that  it  would  have  been  greeted  with  smiles  instead 
of  scowls  just  now.  And  yet  I  like  their  patriotism." 

"  But  it  does  seem  a  sacrilege  for  the  wonderful  old 
towers  and  walls  here  in  Florence  to  be  torn  down  to 
make  room  for  prosaic  twentieth-century  trolley-cars," 
Helen  added. 

"  And  Mr.  Armstrong  sa3rs  there  is  talk  of  a  board 
road  being  built  for  automobiles  between  Mestre  and 
Venice.  What  will  dear  old  Italy  be  when  *  modern 
civilization'  has  finished  with  her?"  Inez  asked. 

"  From  present  tendencies,"  remarked  Uncle  Peabody, 
gravely,  "  I  expect  to  live  to  see  the  day  when  the  Vene 
tian  gondola  will  be  propelled  by  gasolene;  when  the 
Leaning  Tower  of  Pisa  will  either  be  straightened  by 
some  enterprising  American  engineer  or  made  to  lean  a 
bit  more,  so  that  automobiles  may  make  the  ascent,  even 
as  the  Colosseum  at  Rome  is  already  turned  over  to  Buf 
falo  Bill  or  some  other  descendant  of  Barnum's  circus 
for  regular  performances,  including  the  pink  lemonade 
and  the  peanuts." 

"  Don't !"  Inez  cried.  "  It  would  be  far  better  to  go 
to  the  other  extreme,  which  Mr.  Armstrong  would  like 
to  sec." 

The  road  was  level  and  smooth,  now  that  the  rough 
streets  of  the  city  lay  behind  them,  and  there  was  nothing 
to  think  of  until  after  reaching  Empoli.  Armstrong 
had  been  running  the  machine,  and  he  turned  his  head 
just  in  time  to  hear  Inez'  last  remark. 

[114] 


THE     SPELL 


"  I  can  imagine  what  the  conversation  is,  even  though 
I  have  not  heard  much  of  it,"  he  said,  "  and  I  am 
sure  that  I  agree  with  Miss  Thayer.  How  about  get 
ting  back  to  our  work  at  the  library  to-morrow?"  he 
added. 

Inez  flushed  at  the  suddenness  of  the  question,  and 
Helen  caught  her  breath.  The  time  for  her  decision, 
then,  was  near  at  hand. 

"  I  am  as  eager  as  you  are  to  resume  it,"  replied  Inez, 
her  face  lighting  with  pleasure. 

"  Then  it  is  all  arranged,"  Armstrong  said,  decisively. 
"  Helen  and  Uncle  Peabody  may  have  the  machine  to 
morrow,  and  we  will  start  in  again  where  we  left  off." 

The  Arno  winds  around  and  about  in  a  hundred  curves 
between  Florence  and  Pisa,  leaving  the  road  for  some 
little  distance  at  times,  but  ever  coming  back  to  it  in 
flirtatious  manner.  The  fields  stretch  away  between  the 
river  and  the  road  in  undulating  green.  Small  hamlets 
like  San  Romano,  La  Rotta,  and  Navacchio,  and  the 
more  pretentious  settlements  of  Signa,  Empoli,  and 
Pontedera  give  variety  to  the  ride  and  add  by  their  old- 
time  strangeness  to  the  beauties  which  Nature  so  bounti 
fully  supplies.  But  the  climax  comes  at  the  end  of  the 
journey,  after  crossing  the  tracks  at  the  very  modern 
station  and  the  bridge  which  spans  the  Arno.  Over  the 
roofs  of  the  quaint  twelfth-century  houses  rise  the  Ca 
thedral  and  the  Leaning  Tower  and  the  pillared  dome 
of  the  Baptistry. 

The  motor-car  was  halted  in  front  of  the  little  door 
way  of  the  Hotel  Nettuno,  where  the  host  appeared  with 
all  his  affability,  offering  opportunities  for  removing  the 
dust  accumulated  by  the  ride,  and  a  choice  colazlone  to 
be  ready  as  soon  as  might  be  desired.  Helen  was  pre- 

[115] 


THE     SPELL 


occupied  during  the  preparations  for  luncheon,  but  Inez' 
excitement  over  her  first  visit  to  Pisa,  and  Armstrong's 
eagerness  to  watch  the  effect  of  the  early  impressions, 
saved  her  changed  demeanor  from  attracting  any  at 
tention. 

"  It  is  hard  to  realize  that  this  is  the  city  of  Ugolino 
and  the  Tower  of  Hunger  after  this  sumptuous  repast," 
remarked  Jack,  lighting  his  cigarette  with  much  satis 
faction  as  coffee  was  being  served. 

"  Probably  the  '  Nettuno  '  was  not  in  existence  at  that 
time,"  suggested  Uncle  Peabody. 

"  Is  this  not  where  the  wonderful  echo  is  to  be  heard  ?" 
inquired  Inez. 

"  Yes — at  the  Baptistry,"  Armstrong  replied ;  "  and 
you  are  sure  to  enjoy  it — the  sacristan  makes  up  such  a 
funny  face  when  he  intones." 

"  The  echo  at  Montecatini,  I  understand,  is  taking  a 
long  vacation,"  observed  Uncle  Peabody. 

"  How  so?"  inquired  Inez,  innocently. 

"  The  regular  echo  was  ill,  and  the  sacristan  failed 
to  coach  the  new  boy  properly.  The  visitor  called, 
'What  is  the  hour?'  and  the  echo  came  back,  'Four 
o'clock ' !" 

Jack  and  Inez  led  the  way  from  the  hotel,  through  the 
narrow  walled  streets  and  under  the  gateway  to  the 
Piazza  del  Duomo,  where  all  the  splendor  of  the  marvel 
lous  group  of  buildings  burst  upon  them.  Helen  plead 
ed  fatigue  and  asked  to  be  left  in  the  Duomo  while  the 
others  set  out  to  climb  the  Leaning  Tower  and  to  in 
spect  the  Campo  Santo ;  so  Uncle  Peabody  insisted  on 
staying  with  her.  They  sat  down  on  one  of  the  wooden 
benches  beneath  the  lamp  of  Galileo,  and  Helen  rested 
her  head  upon  her  hand.  Uncle  Peabody  watched  her 

[116] 


THE     SPELL 


curiously  for  a  moment.  Finally  he  took  her  hand  quiet 
ly  in  his.  Helen  started. 

"  I  would  do  it  if  I  were  you,  Helen,"  he  said,  de 
liberately. 

"  Do  what?"  she  asked,  surprised  into  confusion. 

"  Just  what  you  were  thinking  of  doing  when  I  in 
terrupted  you." 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  was  thinking,  then?" 

"  No."  Uncle  Peabody  spoke  in  a  very  matter-of- 
fact  way.  "  But  I  am  sure  it  is  the  right  thing  to  do." 

Helen  looked  at  him  steadily,  uncertain  of  just  how 
far  he  had  surmised  her  secret  thought.  There  was 
nothing  in  the  calm,  unruffled  expression  which  gave 
her  even  an  inkling  as  to  whether  her  peculiar  sensation 
was  caused  by  his  intuition  or  her  own  self-consciousness. 
Then  her  gaze  relaxed,  and  she  laughed  half-heartedly. 

"  You  have  mislaid  your  divining  -  cap  this  time," 
Helen  said  at  length.  "  If  you  had  really  read  my 
mind  your  advice  would  have  been  quite  different." 

Uncle  Peabody  was  undisturbed.  "  In  that  case  you 
will  exercise  your  woman's  prerogative  and  change  it 
within  the  next  twenty-four  hours.  When  that  has  taken 
place  you  will  find  that  my  advice  fits  it  exactly." 

"  I  wish  I  had  your  confidence,  Uncle  Peabody." 
Helen  rose  suddenly  and  held  out  her  hand  to  her  com 
panion.  "  Come,  let  us  go  into  the  sunlight,  where  things 
look  more  cheerful." 

Uncle  Peabody  watched  the  figure  militant  as  Helen 
preceded  him  down  the  broad  aisle,  past  the  small  altars, 
and  out  into  the  air.  He  recalled  this  same  attitude  when 
Helen  had  been  a  child,  and  he  remembered  the  deter 
mination  and  the  strength  of  will  which  went  with  it  at 
that  time.  He  had  forgotten  this  characteristic  in  meet- 

[117] 


THE     SPELL 


ing  his  niece  grown  to  womanhood  and  in  the  midst  of 
such  apparently  congenial  surroundings.  Now  he  felt 
that  he  knew  the  occasion  for  its  reappearance. 

Inez  and  Jack  soon  joined  them,  and  together  they 
returned  to  the  hotel.  A  few  moments  later  the  car  was 
gliding  back  toward  Florence  again,  in  the  refreshing 
cool  of  the  afternoon,  with  changed  color  effects  to  give 
new  impressions  to  the  panorama  of  the  morning.  They 
were  almost  home  when  Armstrong  turned  suddenly  to 
Helen : 

"  How  absolutely  stupid  of  me !"  he  said,  abruptly. 
"  I  met  Phil  Emory  on  the  Lung'  Arno  yesterday  and 
asked  him  to  take  dinner  with  us  to-night."  Armstrong 
looked  at  his  watch.  "  We  shall  be  just  about  in  time, 
anyhow,  but  I  am  sorry  not  to  have  told  you  about  it." 


X 


WHEN  Helen  Cartwright  had  accepted  Phil 
Emory  as  escort  for  the  Harvard  Class  Day 
festivities,  on  the  occasion  of  his  graduation, 
every  one  had  considered  the  matter  of  their  engagement 
as  settled ;  that  is  to  say,  every  one  except  Helen  and 
Emory.  This  view  of  the  matter  did  not  occur  to  Helen, 
even  as  a  remote  possibility,  and  Phil  Emory  had  ab 
solute  knowledge  to  the  contrary,  since  Helen  herself  had 
answered  his  question  very  clearly,  even  though  not  satis 
factorily,  some  months  before  this  event  took  place.  But 
she  liked  him  immensely  none  the  less,  and  saw  no  reason 
why  she  should  not  throw  confetti  at  him  from  the  circus- 
like  seats  of  the  Stadium,  or  eat  strawberries  and  ices 
with  him  and  her  other  friends  at  the  various  Class  Day 
spreads.  In  fact,  she  saw  every  reason  for  doing  so, 
inasmuch  as  she  thoroughly  enjoyed  it;  and  Emory  was 
proud  enough  to  act  as  host  under  any  conditions  what 
ever. 

After  graduation  Emory  probably  had  as  good  a 
chance  as  any  one  until  Jack  Armstrong  entered  the 
field.  The  younger  man  had  become  more  and  more  in 
tense  in  his  devotion,  but  when  he  found  himself  out 
classed  by  the  force  of  Armstrong's  attack  he  accepted 
his  defeat  generously  and  philosophically.  No  one  con 
tributed  more  to  the  jollity  of  the  wedding  breakfast  or 

[119] 


THE     SPELL 


extended  heartier  congratulations  to  the  bride  and  bride 
groom. 

Emory's  visit  at  the  Villa  Godilombra,  when  he  first 
arrived  in  Italy,  was  one  of  the  plcasantcst  experiences 
of  his  whole  trip  thus  far.  Never  had  he  seen  a  more 
glorious  spot,  and  never  had  he  seen  Helen  so  radiantly 
beautiful.  He  had  remarked  to  Eustis  more  than  once 
during  their  stay  that  an  Italian  background  was  the 
one  thing  needful  to  show  off  Helen's  charms  to  the 
greatest  perfection.  When  he  returned  to  Florence, 
therefore,  he  determined  to  see  her  again,  making  his 
belated  duty  call  the  excuse ;  so  the  fortunate  meeting 
with  Armstrong  and  the  invitation  which  resulted  fitted 
in  most  agreeably  with  his  plans. 

The  automobile  passed  Emory  in  his  vettura  half-way 
up  the  hill.  "  Good-bye,  old  chap !  Must  hurry,  as  we 
have  company  coming  for  dinner!"  cried  Armstrong, 
gayly,  as  the  machine  glided  past  him,  giving  him  only 
a  vision  of  waving  hands  before  he  became  enveloped  in 
the  cloud  of  dust.  When  he  arrived  at  the  villa  he  found 
Helen  and  Jack  awaiting  him  as  if  they  had  been  at  home 
all  the  afternoon. 

"  This  is  a  pleasant  surprise,  Phil,"  said  Helen, 
cordially.  "  Until  Jack  told  me  you  were  in  Florence 
I  supposed  you  and  Dick  Eustis  had  at  least  reached 
London  by  this  time." 

"  No,"  Emory  replied,  as  they  walked  into  the  garden  ; 
"  I  only  went  as  far  north  as  Paris.  Eustis  continued 
on  to  London,  and  is  there  now,  I  expect,  but  I  ran  across 
Ferdy  De  Peyster  in  Paris.  He  had  a  frightfully  sick 
turn,  and  I  had  to  take  care  of  him  for  a  while." 

"  Ferdy  was  sick,  you  say  ?"  Helen  was  eagerly  in 
terested.  "You  don't  mean  dangerously  so?" 

[120] 


THE     SPELL 


"  No — not  as  things  turned  out ;  but  I  will  admit  I 
was  a  bit  anxious  about  him  for  a  time.  He  had  been 
terribly  cut  up  over  something,  and  then  caught  a  beast 
ly  cold  on  his  lungs,  and  I  thought  he  was  in  for  a  severe 
case  of  pneumonia.  He  was  pretty  sandy  about  it,  and 
in  a  week  he  came  around  all  right.  I  took  him  over 
to  Aix,  where  I  left  him,  and  then  I  decided  to  sail  home 
from  Naples  instead  of  Southampton." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  what  the  trouble  Avas?"  Helen  was 
anxious  to  know  how  confidential  De  Peyster  had  been. 

"  Oh,  an  affaire  de  cceur  he  said ;  but  he  did  not  tell 
me  who  the  girl  was.  He  spoke  of  his  call  on  you  and 
Miss  Thayer,  here,  shortly  after  we  departed,  but  the 
poor  chap  was  not  very  communicative." 

"  Forgive  me  for  deserting  you,  Emory,"  interrupted 
Armstrong  as  he  approached  them  from  the  house,  close 
ly  followed  by  Annetta  bearing  a  tray.  "  This  is  one 
part  of  the  dinner  which  I  never  leave  to  any  one  else. 
These  Italians  know  a  lot  of  things  better  than  we  do, 
but  mixing  cocktails  is  not  one  of  their  long  suits." 

"  By  Jove !  that  is  a  grateful  reward  to  a  dusty 
throat !"  said  Emory,  replacing  the  glass  on  the  tray. 

"  And  now  to  dinner,"  announced  Helen.  "  Annetta 
bids  us  enter." 

Uncle  Peabody  and  Miss  Thayer  joined  them  at  the 
table. 

"  I  must  tell  you,  Mr.  Cartwright,"  said  Emory,  after 
the  greetings  were  over,  "  that  what  you  said  about  eat 
ing  when  I  was  here  before  made  quite  an  impression 
on  me,  and  I  have  been  trying  your  methods  a  little." 

"  Good  for  you !"  cried  Uncle  Peabody. 

"  I  really  think  I  ought  to  make  a  confession,"  Emory 
continued.  "  I  had  heard  about  your  work  and  all  that, 

[121] 


THE    SPELL 


but  I  had  an  idea  that  you  were  more  or  less  of  a  crank, 
and  that  your  theories  were  the  usual  ones  which  go 
with  a  new  fad.  But  when  you  talked  about  under 
standing  and  running  properly  one's  own  motive  power 
it  appealed  to  me  as  being  sensible.  Then  your  idea  that 
the  appetite  is  given  one  to  tell  him  what  the  system 
needs  sounded  reasonable  to  me ;  and  when  you  insisted 
that  this  same  appetite  had  a  right  to  be  consulted  as  to 
when  enough  fuel  was  on  board  I  woke  up  to  a  realiza 
tion  that  I  had  not  always  been  that  respectful  to  my 
self." 

Uncle  Peabody  smiled  genially.  "  Have  you  found 
the  experiment  very  disagreeable?" 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  Emory,  decidedly.  "  Of 
course,  I  started  in  on  it  more  as  a  joke  than  anything 
else,  but  I  have  been  surprised  to  find  how  much  more 
I  really  enjoy  my  food.  Why,  there  are  flavors  in  a 
piece  of  bread  which  I  never  discovered  until  I  chewed 
it  all  to  pieces." 

"  That  is  on  the  same  principle  exactly  that  a  tea- 
taster  or  a  wine-taster  discovers  the  real  flavor  of  the  par 
ticular  variety  he  is  testing.  That  is  one  thing  which 
gave  me  my  idea.  He  sips  a  little  and  then  thoroughly 
mixes  it  with  the  saliva,  and  in  that  way  tastes  the  deli 
cate  aroma  which  the  glutton  never  knows  either  in  drink 
or  food." 

"  How  does  the  system  work  with  the  elaborate  Con 
tinental  table  d'hote,  Mr.  Emory?"  queried  Miss  Thayer. 

Uncle  Peabody  answered  for  him :  "  You  became  an 
object  of  suspicion  to  the  head-waiter,  and  the  gar^on 
thought  you  were  criticising  the  food." 

"  Exactly,"  laughed  Emory.  "  But,  all  joking  aside, 
Mr.  Cartwright,  I  have  become  a  confirmed  disciple. 

[122] 


THE    SPELL 


I  never  felt  so  well,  and  I  am  eating  about  half  as  much 
as  I  used  to." 

"  This  seems  to  be  developing  into  an  experience  meet 
ing,"  Armstrong  remarked.  "  Why  don't  you  write  out 
a  testimonial  for  the  gentleman  ?" 

"  I  would  gladly  do  so,  but  from  what  I  hear  he  stands 
in  no  need  of  any  such  document." 

Emory  turned  to  Uncle  Peabody.  "  It  is  a  case  of 
being  '  advertised  by  our  grateful  friends,'  is  it  not,  Mr. 
Cartwright?" 

"  How  long  will  you  be  in  Florence,  Phil?"  asked 
Helen.  "  Are  you  just  passing  through  again,  or  is 
this  where  you  make  your  visit  to  the  City  of  Flowers?" 

"  I  have  no  definite  plans.  My  steamer  doesn't  sail 
for  a  month,  and  I  am  moving  along  as  the  wind  blows 
me.  Are  the  Sinclair  girls  still  here?" 

"  No ;  they  sailed  for  home  last  week." 

"  Why  don't  you  stay  in  Florence  for  a  while  and 
help  Helen  exercise  the  automobile?"  suggested  Arm 
strong.  "  Miss  Thayer  and  I  are  working  every  day  at 
the  library,  and  it  will  prevent  her  becoming  lonesome." 

Helen  looked  inquiringly  at  her  husband.  This  sug 
gestion  from  him,  and  to  Phil  Emory  of  all  men!  The 
times  had  indeed  altered!  She  saw  that  Emory  was 
observing  her,  and  felt  the  necessity  of  relieving  the 
tension. 

"  You  must  not  put  it  on  that  score,  Jack,"  she  said, 
quietly.  "  I  am  not  at  all  lonely,  but  I  should  be  very 
glad  to  have  Phil  join  us  to-morrow.  What  do  you  say, 
Phil?" 

"  I  should  like  nothing  better.  But  tell  me  about  this 
work,  Armstrong.  Are  you  really  boning  down  to  ardu 
ous  labor  on  your  honeymoon?" 

[1231 


THE     SPELL 


"  It  is  a  bit  out  of  the  ordinary,  is  it  not?"  admitted 
Jack,  uncertain  whether  or  not  Emory's  question  con 
tained  a  reproach.  "  I  would  not  dare  do  it  with  any 
one  except  Helen,  but  she  understands  the  necessity.  I 
don't  know  when  I  shall  get  another  chance." 

"  Jack  is  accomplishing  wonders  in  his  work,"  explain 
ed  Helen,  anxious  to  have  Emory  feel  her  entire  sym 
pathy  ;  "  you  must  have  him  tell  you  about  it.  In  the 
mean  time,  while  he  is  improving  himself  mentally,  Uncle 
Peabody  and  I  are  entering  somewhat  into  the  social 
frivolities  of  Florence.  To-morrow  we  are  going  to  a 
reception  to  be  given  to  the  Count  of  Turin  and  the 
Florentine  Dante  Society  at  the  Villa  Londi.  Jack 
scorns  these  functions,  but  you  will  be  quite  in  your 
element.  We  will  take  you  with  us." 

"  It  is  not  that  I  4  scorn  '  these  things,  as  you  say, 
Helen,"  protested  Armstrong.  "  You  give  any  one  an 
entirely  wrong  idea.  They  are  all  right  enough  in  their 
own  way,  but  I  can  get  these  at  home.  This  chance  at 
the  library,  however,  is  one  in  a  lifetime,  and  I  feel  that 
I  must  improve  it." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Helen,  "  that  is  what  I  meant  to 
say." 

Emory  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  quietly.  "  I 
shall  be  most  happy  to  go  if  you  are  quite  sure  I  won't 
interfere  with  the  plans  you  have  already  made.  You 
know  I  am  not  on  speaking  terms  with  Italian." 

"  You  won't  have  to  be,"  Uncle  Peabody  assured  him. 
"  These  Italians  speak  English  so  well  that  you  will  be 
ashamed  of  your  ignorance.  You  will  have  no  difficulty 
in  making  yourself  understood." 

Helen  was  rebellious  at  heart  that  Jack  should  have 
suggested  Emory  to  relieve  her  loneliness.  It  was  enough 

[124] 


THE    SPELL 


that  he  was  willing  to  be  away  from  her  so  much  with 
out  taking  it  for  granted  and  referring  to  it  in  such  a 
matter-of-fact  way.  Inez  as  well  came  in  for  her  share 
of  the  resentment,  her  very  silence  during  the  discussion 
serving  to  aggravate  Helen's  discomfiture.  Helen  de 
liberately  turned  the  conversation. 

"  I  can't  help  thinking  of  poor  Fcrdy,  Phil.  Have 
you  heard  from  him  since  you  left  him  at  Aix?" 

"  No,  but  I  should  have  heard  if  all  had  not  been  going 
well." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  De  Peyster?"  asked  Arm 
strong. 

"  Oh,  you  did  not  hear  what  Phil  told  me  about  him 
before  dinner,  Jack.  He  has  been  very  ill,  and  Phil  took 
him  over  to  Aix  for  a  cure." 

It  was  the  first  time  De  Peyster's  name  had  been  men 
tioned  since  his  abrupt  departure,  and  Inez  flushed  deep 
ly  as  she  listened. 

"  What  was  the  trouble,  Emory  ?"  asked  Armstrong, 
innocently. 

"  He  came  pretty  near  having  pneumonia,"  replied 
Emory.  "  He  was  hard  hit  with  a  girl  somewhere  over 
here,  and  was  thrown  down,  I  suspect.  Then  he  grew 
careless  and  was  a  pretty  sick  chap  when  I  ran  across 
him  in  Paris." 

Armstrong  had  no  idea  of  the  result  of  his  question. 
He  glanced  hastily  at  Inez  and  gulped  down  half  a  glass 
of  wine,  nearly  choking  himself  in  the  process. 

''  There  you  go !"  exclaimed  Uncle  Peabody,  quite  un 
derstanding  the  situation  and  wishing  to  relieve  the  em 
barrassment.  "  You  will  drown  yourself  one  of  these 
fine  days  if  you  don't  listen  to  my  teachings  and  profit 
by  Mr.  Emory's  example." 

[125] 


THE    SPELL 


But  Emory  was  quite  unconscious  of  the  delicate 
ground  upon  which  he  trod.  The  days  and  nights 
he  had  spent  with  De  Peyster  were  still  strongly  im 
pressed  upon  his  mind. 

"  I  thought  you  might  know  something  about  this, 
Helen,"  he  continued,  "  for  Ferdy  mentioned  your  name 
and  Miss  Thayer's  several  times  while  he  was  delirious. 
I  could  not  make  out  anything  he  said,  he  was  so  in 
coherent.  Later,  when  he  began  to  improve,  I  asked  him 
about  it,  but  he  evidently  did  not  care  to  talk.  But  how 
stupid  I  have  been !"  He  broke  off  suddenly  and  turned 
to  Miss  Thayer.  "  Here  I  have  been  sitting  beside  you 
all  this  time  and  never  once  offered  my  congratulations  !" 

Inez  drew  back  from  the  proffered  hand.  The  color 
left  her  face  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come.  "  What  do 
you  mean?"  she  stammered. 

"  Why,  De  Peyster  told  me  you  were  engaged,"  Emory 
said,  quite  taken  aback.  "  Have  I  said  something  I 
ought  not  to?  He  said  you  told  him  so." 

"  Mr.  De  Peyster  had  no  right  to  say  that !"  Inez 
cried,  fiercely,  almost  breaking  into  tears. 

Emory  was  most  contrite.  "  Ten  thousand  pardons," 
he  apologized.  "  You  must  forgive  me,  Miss  Thayer. 
Ferdy  never  suggested  that  it  was  a  secret  at  all — and 
now  I  have  given  the  whole  thing  away !" 

Emory  wished  himself  half-way  across  the  Atlantic. 

"  I  am  very  much  annoyed,"  replied  Inez,  still  strug 
gling  to  contain  herself — "  not  with  you,  but  with  Mr. 
De  Peyster." 

"  But  she  is  not  engaged,"  Armstrong  insisted,  with 
decision. 

"  I  think  Inez  had  better  be  left  to  settle  that  point 
herself,  Jack,"  Helen  interrupted,  pointedly. 

[126] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Then  why  does  she  not  settle  it?" 

"  I  will  settle  it."  Inez  sat  up  very  straight  in  her 
chair,  her  tense  features  making  her  face  look  drawn  in 
its  ashy  paleness. 

"  Jack  has  no  right  to  force  you  into  any  such  posi 
tion,  Inez,"  Helen  protested,  indignantly ;  "  he  is  for 
getting  himself." 

"  De  Peyster  is  responsible  for  the  whole  thing." 
Emory  struggled  to  step  in  between  the  clash  of  arms. 
"  I  recall  the  very  words.  '  Phil,  old  chap,'  he  said,  '  you 
remember  Miss  Thayer?  She  is  engaged.  She  told  me 
she  had  found  some  one  whom  she  loved  better  than  her 
life.'  Can  you  blame  me  for  making  such  a  consummate 
ass  of  myself?" 

Armstrong's  intense  interest  had  taken  him  too  deeply 
into  the  affair  for  him  to  heed  Helen's  protests. 

"  You  never  said  anything  of  the  kind,  did  you,  Miss 
Thayer?" 

"  I  am  not  engaged,"  replied  Inez,  very  firmly,  "  and 
I  cannot  understand  why  Mr.  De  Peyster  should  have 
put  me  in  this  uncomfortable  position." 

"  Of  course  not,"  assented  Armstrong,  with  evident 
satisfaction.  "  De  Peyster  is  a  fool.  I  will  tell  him  so 
the  next  time  I  see  him." 

"  I  think  we  had  better  change  the  subject,"  said 
Helen,  rising,  her  face  flushed  with  indignation.  "  The 
methods  of  the  Inquisition  have  no  place  at  a  modern 
dinner-table." 


XI 


INEZ  THAYER  had  congratulated  herself  upon  her 
success  in  keeping  her  secret.  Since  her  searching 

self-examination  and  the  harrowing  experience  during 
De  Peyster's  brief  visit  she  had  spent  many  hours  in 
wardly  debating  the  proper  steps  to  take  in  order  to 
solve  her  problem.  She  was  certain  that  no  one  knew 
the  real  state  of  affairs,  and  with  this  certainty  the  only 
danger  lay  in  its  effect  upon  herself.  But  she  knew  all 
too  well  that  this  danger  was  indeed  a  real  one.  Day 
by  day  her  admiration  for  Armstrong  increased,  and 
with  that  admiration  her  affection  waxed  stronger  and 
stronger.  Those  hours  together  at  the  library — when 
they  were  quite  alone,  when  his  face,  in  their  joint  ab 
sorption  in  their  work,  almost  touched  hers,  when  his 
hand  rested  unconsciously  for  a  moment  upon  her  own 
— were  to  her  moments  in  the  Elysian  Fields,  and  she 
quaffed  deeply  of  the  intoxicating  draught.  What  harm, 
she  argued  to  herself,  since  her  companion  was  oblivious 
to  her  hidden  sentiments — what  disloyalty  to  her  friend, 
since  the  pain  must  all  be  hers?  And  the  pain  was  hers 
already — why  not  revel  in  its  ecstasy  while  it  lasted? 

With  her  conscience  partially  eased  by  her  labored 
conclusions,  Inez  threw  herself  into  a  complete  enjoy 
ment  of  her  work.  Helen's  attitude  toward  her  had  not 
in  any  way  altered,  and  she  was  still  apparently  entire- 

[128] 


THE    SPELL 


ly  agreeable  to  the  arrangement.  Her  suggestion  to  join 
them  in  their  labors  was  the  only  evidence  which  Inez 
had  seen  that  perhaps  her  friend  was  becoming  restless, 
even  though  not  ready  to  raise  any  objections;  but  when 
Helen  herself  gave  up  the  idea,  after  her  single  visit  to 
the  library,  Inez  was  convinced  that  she  had  misunder 
stood  her  motive.  Nothing  remained,  therefore,  but  to 
accept  her  previous  argument  that  she  was  simply  fol 
lowing  the  inexorable  guidance  of  Fate,  with  herself 
the  only  possible  victim.  It  was  uncomfortable,  it  was 
wearing,  but  she  could  not,  she  repeated  over  and  over 
again,  remove  herself  from  the  exquisite  suffering  of  her 
surroundings  until  she  was  absolutely  obliged  to  do  so. 

The  episode  at  the  dinner-table  completely  shattered 
the  structure  she  had  built,  and  its  sudden  demolition 
stunned  her.  This  she  vaguely  realized  as  she  and 
Helen  left  the  men  at  the  table  and  walked  to  the  ve 
randa  for  their  coffee.  Their  departure  was  in  itself  an 
evidence  of  new  and  strained  conditions,  as  both  Helen 
and  Jack  regarded  the  coffee-and-cigar  period  as  the 
best  part  of  every  dinner  and  a  part  to  be  enjoyed  to 
gether.  Helen  had  not  yet  acquired  the  Continental 
cigarette  habit,  but,  as  she  had  once  expressed  it,  "  Men 
are  so  good-natured  right  after  dinner,  when  they  are 
stuffed,  and  so  happy  when  they  are  making  silly  little 
clouds  of  smoke !" 

Inez  hesitatingly  passed  her  arm  around  her  friend's 
waist,  and  when  Helen  drew  her  closely  to  her  she  rested 
her  head  against  her  shoulder,  relaxing  like  a  tired 
child. 

"  Who  would  have  expected  this  outcome  of  such  a 
happy  day?"  Inez  queried,  sadly,  as  the  two  girls  seated 
themselves  upon  the  wicker  divan. 
9  [1291 


THE     SPELL 


"  Jack  was  a  brute !"  exclaimed  Helen,  almost  sav 
agely. 

"  It  is  all  my  own  fault,  Helen ;  but  I  could  not  tell 
them  so  in  there." 

Helen  appeared  astonished.  "  How  do  you  mean? 
Are  you  really  engaged,  after  all?" 

"  No,  no,  Helen ;  but  you  see  when  Ferdy  urged  me 
so  hard  for  an  answer  I  had  to  tell  him  something." 

Inez  glanced  up  at  Helen  to  see  how  she  took  her  ex 
planation. 

"  So  you  told  him  you  were  engaged?" 

"  Not  exactly  that,  but—" 

"  That  you  loved  some  one  better  than  your  life?" 

Inez  shrank  a  little  as  she  answered.  "  Something 
like  that,"  she  admitted. 

"  And  it  was  not  true?" 

Inez  laughed  nervously.  "  What  an  absurd  question, 
Helen  !  You  know  I  have  seen  almost  no  one  since  I  came 
here." 

"  Except  Jack,"  said  Helen,  impulsively. 

Inez  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  What  do  you  mean,  Helen  ? 
You  don't  accuse  me  of  being  in  love  with  your  husband, 
do  you?" 

Helen  pulled  her  down  beside  her  again.  "  Don't  be 
tragic,  dear,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  I  admit  that  the  sug 
gestion  is  unkind,  after  the  display  Jack  made  of  him 
self  at  the  table.  I  am  provoked  with  him  myself." 

"  Helen," — Inez  spoke  abruptly,  after  a  moment's  si 
lence — "  I  think  I  ought  to  leave  Florence." 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  Inez.  You  are  worked  up  over 
this  miserable  affair,  but  you  will  forget  all  about  it  in 
the  morning — when  you  get  back  to  your  work  at  the  li 
brary." 

[130] 


THE    SPELL 


"  No ;  this  time  I  really  mean  what  I  say.  I  ought  to 
have  gone  when  my  visit  was  up  a  fortnight  ago;  but 
you  were  so  sweet  in  urging  me  to  stay,  and  the  work 
had  developed  with  such  increasing  interest,  that  I  have 
just  stayed  on  and  on." 

"  I  am  sorry  if  you  regret  having  stayed,  dear.  It 
certainly  seemed  to  be  for  the  best." 

"  But  see  what  it  has  brought  on  you,  Helen." 

"  I  am  not  proud  of  my  husband's  behavior,  I  admit ; 
but  you  have  even  greater  cause  to  feel  annoyed  than  I." 

Inez  seemed  to  be  drifting  hopelessly  in  her  attempt 
to  find  the  right  thing  to  say. 

"  I  have  felt  that  I  ought  to  go  for  a  long  time." 

"  A  long  time?"  Helen  echoed.  "  Has  Jack  behaved 
as  badly  as  this  before  ?" 

"  Not  that ;  it  is  the  library  work  which  makes  me  feel 
so." 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  are  getting  tired  of  it." 

"  Tired  of  it !  Oh,  Helen,  I  wish  you  could  get  as 
much  joy  out  of  anything  as  I  do  out  of  this  work. 
Tired  of  it!"  Inez  laughed  aloud  at  the  absurdity  of 
the  suggestion.  Then  she  grew  serious  again.  "  I  know 
I  ought  to  leave  it,  yet  I  cannot  force  myself  to  make 
the  break." 

"  I  don't  think  I  understand,"  said  Helen,  quietly, 
watching  intently  the  struggle  through  which  the  girl 
was  passing. 

"  I  know  you  don't,  and  I  don't  believe  I  could  make 
any  one  understand  it,"  replied  Inez,  helplessly. 

"  You  talk  about  it  in  this  mysterious  way  just  as 
Jack  does,"  continued  Helen.  "  There  must  be  some 
sort  of  spell  about  it,  for  you  both  are  changed  beings 
since  your  first  visit  to  the  library." 

[1311 


THE     SPELL 


"  Then  you  have  noticed  it?"  Inez  looked  up  anx 
iously. 

"  Of  course  I  have  noticed  it,"  admitted  Helen,  frank 
ly.  "  How  could  I  help  it  when  you  yourself  feel  it  so 
strongly  ?" 

"  Do  you  blame  me  for  it  ?" 

"  Why  should  I  blame  you,  Inez?  Is  there  any  rea 
son  why  I  should  blame  any  one?" 

"  No,  except  that  the  work  takes  your  husband  away 
from  you  so  much." 

"But  I  can't  hold  you  responsible  for  that,  can  I? 
It  is  the  work  which  draws  you  both,  is  it  not — not  each 
the  other?" 

Inez  moved  uneasily  and  withdrew  her  hand  from 
Helen's  lap.  "  Of  course  it  is  the  work,"  she  answered, 
quietly ;  "  but,  frankly,  would  you  not  rather  have  it 
discontinued?" 

"  No,"  replied  Helen,  without  hesitation ;  "  but  I  sin 
cerely  wish  Jack  might  be  less  completely  absorbed  by 
it.  I  have  no  intention  of  opposing  it,  and  I  am  willing 
to  sacrifice  much  for  its  success,  yet  I  see  no  reason  why 
it  should  so  wholly  deprive  me  of  my  husband." 

"  It  has  opened  up  an  entirely  new  world  for  me." 
Inez  seemed  suddenly  obsessed  by  a  reminiscent  thought. 
Her  troubled  expression  changed  into  one  of  rapt  ecstasy. 
Helen  watched  the  transformation,  deeply  impressed  by 
the  strange  new  light  which  she  saw  in  the  girl's  eyes. 
"  I  must  be  more  impressionable  than  I  supposed,"  she 
continued,  "  for  it  all  seems  so  real.  I  can  see  Michel 
angelo's  face  as  I  read  his  letters ;  I  can  see  his  lips  move, 
his  expression  change — I  can  even  hear  his  voice.  I  have 
watched  him  fashion  the  great  David  out  of  the  dis 
carded  marble ;  I  have  heard  his  discussions  with  Pope 

[132] 


THE    SPELL 


Julius  and  Pope  Leo ;  I  have  witnessed  his  struggle  with 
Leonardo  at  the  Palazzo  Vccchio.  The  events  come  so 
fast,  and  the  letters  give  such  minute  information  upon 
so  many  topics,  that  I  actually  feel  myself  in  the  midst 
of  it  all.  I  know  Vittoria  Colonna  as  well  as  Michel 
angelo  ever  did,  and  I  know  far  better  than  he  why  she 
refused  to  marry  him.  All  these  great  characters,  and 
others,  live  and  move  and  converse  with  us  these  morn 
ings  at  the  library."  Inez  paused  to  get  her  breath. 
She  was  talking  very  fast.  "  I  know  it  sounds  un 
canny,"  she  went  on,  "  but  there  is  something  in  the  very 
atmosphere  which  makes  me  forget  who  or  what  I  am. 
Cerini  comes  and  stands  beside  us,  rubbing  his  hands  to 
gether  and  smiling,  and  yet  we  hardly  notice  him.  He 
is  a  part  of  it  all.  What  he  says  seems  no  more  real 
than  the  conversations  and  the  communions  we  have  with 
the  others  who  died  centuries  ago.  I  realize  how  inex 
plicable  all  this  must  sound  to  you,  because  I  find  myself 
absolutely  unable  to  explain  it  to  myself.  It  must  be  a 
spell,  as  you  say,  but  I  have  no  strength  to  break  it." 

"  It  must  be  something,"  Helen  admitted,  gravely, 
"  to  affect  both  you  and  Jack  the  same  way.  I  wonder 
what  it  is  ?" 

Inez  paid  no  heed  to  the  interrogation.  "  You  should 
see  your  husband,  Helen,  when  he  is  at  his  work.  You 
don't  really  know  him  as  you  see  him  here." 

Helen  felt  herself  impressed  even  more  strongly  than 
she  had  been  during  her  visit  to  the  library.  Inez  spoke 
with  the  same  intensity  and  conviction  which  at  that 
time  had  overwhelmed  her  previously  conceived  plans. 

"  Cerini  said  the  same  thing — "  she  began. 

"  Cerini  is  right,"  Inez  interrupted.  "  Your  husband 
is  a  god  among  them  all.  He  is  not  a  mere  student, 

[133] 


THE    SPELL 


searching  for  facts,  but  one  of  those  great  spirits  them 
selves,  looking  into  their  lives  and  their  characters  with 
a  power  and  an  intimacy  which  only  a  contemporary  and 
an  equal  could  do.  Cerini  says  that  his  book  will  be  a 
masterpiece — that  it  will  place  him  among  the  great  sa 
vants  of  his  time.  No  such  work  has  been  produced  in 
years ;  and  you  will  be  so  proud  of  him,  Helen  —  so 
proud  that  he  belongs  to  you !  Is  it  not  worth  the  sacri 
fice?" 

As  her  friend  paused  Helen  bowed  her  head  in  silence. 
"  So  proud  that  he  belongs  to  you,"  Inez  had  just  said. 
Did  he  belong  to  her — had  he  ever  belonged  to  her?  The 
new  light  in  Inez'  eyes,  the  intensity  of  her  words,  both 
convinced  and  controlled  her.  What  was  she,  even 
though  his  wife,  to  stand  in  the  way  of  such  a  champion 
ship?  What  were  the  conventions  of  commonplace  do 
mestic  life  in  the  presence  of  this  all-compelling  genius? 
She  felt  her  resentment  against  Jack  become  unimpor 
tant.  With  such  absorption  it  was  but  natural  that  he 
should  not  act  like  other  men. 

The  sound  of  voices  in  the  hall  brought  both  girls  to 
themselves. 

"  Dare  we  come  out  ?"  asked  Uncle  Peabody,  cautious 
ly,  pausing  at  the  door.  "  These  back-sliders  are  very 
repentant,  and  I  will  vouch  for  their  good  behavior." 

"  There  is  only  one  of  us  who  requires  forgiveness," 
added  Armstrong,  frankly,  advancing  to  the  divan.  "  I 
owe  you  both  an  apology ;  first  of  all  to  my  wife,  for  not 
heeding  her  good  advice,  and  then  to  my  c  sister-worker,' 
as  Cerini  calls  her,  for  adding  to  her  discomfiture." 

"  If  Inez  will  forgive  you,  I  will  cheerfully  add  my 
absolution,"  replied  Helen,  forcing  a  smile. 

"  I  was  really  afraid  that  I  was  going  to  lose  my  right- 
[134] 


THE    SPELL 


hand  man,"  continued  Armstrong  by  way  of  explana 
tion,  "  and  my  work  must  then  have  come  to  an  abrupt 
conclusion." 

"  You  give  me  altogether  too  much  credit,"  replied 
Inez.  "  The  work  is  already  so  much  a  part  of  your 
self  that  you  could  not  drop  it  if  you  lost  a  dozen  '  sister- 
workers.'  ' 

"  It  must  never  come  to  that,  Jack,"  added  Helen, 
seriously.  "  Inez  will  surely  stay  until  the  book  is  com 
pleted,  and  I  shall  do  what  little  I  can  to  help  it  to  a 
glorious  success." 

"  You  are  a  sweet,  sympathizing  little  wife."  Arm 
strong  placed  his  hand  affectionately  upon  her  shoulder. 
"  Your  interest  in  it  will  be  all  that  I  need  to  make  it  so." 

Emory  and  Uncle  Peabody  instinctively  glanced  at 
each  other,  and  for  a  moment  their  eyes  met.  It  was  but 
an  instant,  yet  in  that  brief  exchange  each  knew  where 
the  other  stood. 


BOOK    II 
VICTIM    OF    FATE 


XII 


A  LL  Florence — social,  literary,  and  artistic — was  at 
A\  the  Londi  reception.  The  ancient  villa,  once  the 
possession  of  the  great  Dante,  fell  into  gentle  hands 
when  the  present  owner,  thirty  years  before,  entered  into 
an  appreciative  enjoyment  of  his  newly  acquired  prop 
erty.  The  structure  itself  was  preserved  and  restored 
without  destroying  the  original  beauty  of  its  architect 
ure;  the  walls  were  renovated  and  hung  with  rich  tap 
estries  and  rare  paintings;  priceless  statuary  found  a 
place  in  the  courts  and  corridors,  but  with  such  perfect 
taste  that  one  felt  instinctively  that  each  piece  belonged 
exactly  where  it  stood  as  a  part  of  the  complete  harmony. 
Florentine  society  possesses  two  strong  characteristics 
— hospitality  and  sincerity.  No  people  in  the  world  so 
cordially  welcome  strangers  who  come  properly  intro 
duced  to  settle  temporarily  in  their  midst;  no  people  so 
plainly  manifest  their  estimates  of  their  adopted  aliens. 
There  is  no  half-way,  there  is  no  compromise.  They 
are  courteous  always,  they  are  considerate  even  when  they 
disapprove ;  but  when  once  they  accept  the  stranger  into 
their  circle  they  make  him  feel  that  he  is  and  always 
has  been  a  part  of  themselves. 

Uncle  Peabody  had  won  this  place  long  since.  His 
genial  disposition  and  quiet  philosophy  appealed  to  them 
from  the  first  by  its  very  contrast  to  their  own  impulsive 

[1391 


THE     SPELL 


Latin  temperament.  It  was  an  easy  matter,  therefore, 
for  him  to  introduce  his  niece  to  those  whom  he  counted 
among  his  friends,  and  this  he  made  it  a  point  to 
do  when  he  discovered  how  much  she  would  otherwise 
have  been  alone.  Helen  had  ceased  to  urge  Jack  to  ac 
company  her,  and  he  seemed  quite  content  to  be  omitted. 
Their  first  weeks  in  Florence  had  been  devoted  to  getting 
settled  in  their  villa  and  in  rambling  over  the  surrounding 
hills,  entirely  satisfied  with  their  own  society.  The  house- 
party  had  taken  up  another  week,  and  even  before  the 
guests  had  departed  Armstrong  began  his  researches  at 
the  library,  which  required  a  larger  portion  of  each  day 
as  time  went  on.  The  moment  when  Helen  and  Jack 
would  naturally  have  jointly  assumed  their  social  pleas 
ures  and  responsibilities  had  passed,  and  the  necessity  for 
diversion  of  some  kind  prompted  Helen  gratefully  to  ac 
cept  her  uncle  as  a  substitute. 

"  There  is  a  countrywoman  of  ours  —  the  Contessa 
Morelli,"  Uncle  Peabody  remarked,  as  he  skilfully  pilot 
ed  Helen  and  Emory  away  from  the  crush  in  the  recep 
tion-hall,  indicating  a  strikingly  attractive  woman  sur 
rounded  by  a  group  of  Italian  gallants.  "  She  came 
from  Milwaukee,  I  believe,  and  married  the  title,  with 
the  husband  thrown  in  as  a  gratuity  for  good  meas 
ure." 

"  She  looks  far  too  refined  and  agreeable  to  answer 
to  your  description,"  Helen  replied,  after  regarding  the 
object  of  his  comments. 

"  She  is  refined  and  agreeable,"  assented  Uncle  Pea- 
body,  "  and  —  worldly.  When  you  have  once  seen  the 
count  you  will  understand.  She  is  a  neighbor  of  yours, 
so  you  must  meet  her  —  the  Villa  Morelli  is  scarcely  a 

quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  the  Villa  Godilombra." 

[140] 


"  Don't  overlook  me  in  the  introduction,  will  you?" 
urged  Emory,  eagerly. 

"  Still  as  fond  as  ever  of  a  pretty  face,  Phil?"  queried 
Helen,  laughing. 

"  Of  course,"  he  acquiesced,  cheerfully ;  "  but  this  is 
a  case  of  national  pride.  You  and  she — the  two  Amer 
ican  Beauties  present — would  make  any  American  proud 
of  his  country." 

Helen  smiled  and  held  up  a  finger  warningly  as  she 
followed  Uncle  Peabody's  lead.  The  contessa  acknowl 
edged  the  introductions  with  much  cordiality,  but  to 
Emory's  disappointment  devoted  herself  at  once  to 
Helen. 

"  So  you  are  from  dear,  old,  chilly  Boston,"  she  said, 
breezily.  "  The  last  time  I  passed  through  was  on  a 
July  day,  and  I  was  so  glad  I  had  my  furs  with  me." 

"  Boston  is  celebrated  for  its  cast  winds,"  volunteered 
Emory,  calmly. 

The  contessa  glanced  at  him  for  a  moment  to  make 
sure  that  his  misunderstanding  was  wilful. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  meaningly ;  "  and  I  understand 
that  in  Boston  the  revised  adage  reads,  '  God  tempers 
the  east  wind  to  the  blue-bloods.' ' 

"  And  I  was  just  going  to  say  some  nice  things  about 
Milwaukee!"  Emory  continued. 

"  Then  it  is  just  as  well  that  I  discouraged  you,"  the 
contessa  interrupted.  "  No  one  who  has  not  lived  there 
can  ever  think  of  anything  complimentary  to  say  about 
Milwaukee  except  to  expatiate  upon  its  beer.  That 
seems  to  mark  the  limitations  of  his  acquaintance  with 
our  city." 

The  contessa  turned  to  Helen.    "  Mr.  Cartwright  tells 

me  that  you  and  your  husband  are  my  mysterious  neigh- 

[141] 


THE     SPELL 


bors,  about  whom  we  have  had  so  much  curiosity.  You 
must  let  me  call  on  you  very  soon." 

Helen  was  studying  her  new  acquaintance  with  much 
interest.  Her  features  were  as  clearly  cut  as  if  the  work 
of  a  master-sculptor,  yet  nature  had  improved  upon 
human  skill  by  adding  a  color  to  the  cheeks  and  a 
vivacity  to  the  eye  which  made  their  owner  irresistible 
to  all  who  met  her;  while  the  simple  elegance  of  her 
lingerie  gown,  in  striking  contrast  to  the  dress  of  the 
Italian  women  near  her,  set  off  to  advantage  the  lines  of 
her  graceful  figure.  She  was  a  few  years  older  than 
Helen,  yet  evidently  a  younger  woman  in  years  than  in 
experience.  Uncle  Peabody's  comments  had  naturally 
prejudiced  Helen  to  an  extent,  yet  she  could  not  resist 
a  certain  appeal  which  unconsciously  attracted  her. 

"  I  hope  we  may  see  much  of  each  other,"  the  contessa 
continued,  cordially,  scarcely  giving  Helen  an  oppor 
tunity  even  for  perfunctory  replies.  "  Morelli  is  housed 
by  the  gout  at  least  half  of  the  time,  and  he  bores  me  to 
death  with  his  description  of  the  various  symptoms.  I 
will  run  over  to  Villa  Godilombra  and  let  you  rehearse 
your  troubles  for  a  change.  But,  of  course,  you  have 
no  troubles — Mr.  Cartwright  said  you  were  a  bride,  did 
he  not?" 

The  contessa  noticed  the  color  which  came  in  Helen's 
face,  and  her  experience,  tempered  by  her  intuition,  told 
her  that  it  was  not  a  blush  of  pleasure. 

"Where  is  your  husband?"  she  asked,  pointedly. 
"  You  must  present  him  to  me." 

"  He  is  engaged  upon  some  literary  work  at  the  li 
brary,"  Helen  replied. 

"  Oh,  a  learned  man !  That  is  almost  as  bad  as  the 
gout !"  The  contessa  held  up  her  hands  in  mock  horror. 

[142] 


THE     SPELL 


"  Then  you  will  need  my  sympathy,  after  all,"  she 
said,  with  finality.  Oh,  these  husbands! — these  hus 
bands  !" 

It  was  a  relief  to  Helen  when  other  guests  claimed  the 
contessa's  attention.  Uncle  Peabody  had  mingled  with 
friends  in  the  drawing-room,  so  she  and  Emory  moved 
on  in  the  same  direction.  Here  she  found  many  whom 
she  had  previously  met,  and  for  half  an  hour  held  a 
court  as  large  and  as  admiring  as  the  contessa's.  Emory 
was  quite  unprepared  to  find  his  companion  so  much  at 
home  in  this  different  atmosphere. 

"  By  Jove,  Helen,"  he  whispered,  as  he  finally  dis 
covered  an  opportunity  to  converse  with  her  again, 
"  one  would  think  you  had  always  lived  in  Florence. 
If  it  were  not  for  the  gold  lace  of  the  army  officers  and 
the  white  heads  of  the  ancient  gallants  who  flock  about 
you,  I  should  almost  imagine  we  were  at  the  Assemblies 
again." 

"  Every  one  is  cordiality  itself,"  replied  Helen.  "  See 
Uncle  Peabody  over  there !  Is  he  not  having  a  good 
time?  He  told  me  Professor  Tesso,  of  the  University  of 
Turin,  was  to  be  here,  and  I  presume  that  is  he." 

Following  the  example  of  the  other  guests,  Helen  and 
Emory  strolled  out  into  the  main  court,  in  one  corner 
of  which  is  the  old  well  dating  back  to  the  time  when 
the  Divine  Poet  slaked  his  thirst  at  its  stony  brim.  The 
sun  streamed  in  through  the  narrow  windows  and  lighted 
the  terra-cotta  flagstones  where  its  rays  struck,  making 
the  extreme  corners  of  the  court  seem  even  dimmer.  With 
rare  restraint,  the  only  decoration  consisted  of  long 
festoons,  made  of  lemons,  pomegranates,  eucalyptus, 
oranges,  and  laurel,  fashioned  to  resemble  the  majolicas 
of  Delia  Robbia  and  hung  gracefullv  along  the  stone 

[143] 


THE    SPELL 


balcony,  between  which  was  an  occasional  rare  old  rug 
or  costly  tapestry.  Passing  slowly  up  the  spacious  stair 
way,  stopped  now  and  again  by  one  or  more  of  Helen's 
newly  acquired  friends,  they  reached  the  library,  where 
some  of  the  more  valuable  manuscripts  and  early  printed 
volumes  were  exposed  to  view.  A  group  of  book-lovers 
were  eagerly  examining  an  edition  of  Dante  resting  upon 
a  graceful  thirteenth-century  leggio,  printed  by  Lorenzo 
Delia  Magna,  and  illustrated  with  Botticelli's  remark 
able  engravings.  From  the  balcony,  leading  out  from 
the  library,  they  gained  a  view  of  the  carefully  laid-out 
garden,  brilliant  in  its  color  display  and  redolent  with 
the  mingled  fragrance  of  myriads  of  blossoms. 

Here  Uncle  Peabody  rejoined  them,  bringing  with  him 
the  scholarly  looking  professor  from  Turin. 

"  Helen,  I  want  you  to  meet  Professor  Tesso.  He 
was  among  the  first  who  saw  in  my  theories  and  experi 
ments  any  signs  of  merit." 

The  professor  held  up  his  hand  deprecatingly.  "  You 
give  me  too  much  credit,  Mr.  Cartwright.  Judicially, 
we  men  of  science  are  all  hidebound  and  look  upon  every 
innovation  as  erroneous  until  proved  otherwise.  We 
could  not  believe  that  your  theories  of  body  require 
ments  of  food  were  sound  because  they  differed  so  radi 
cally  from  what  we  had  come  to  regard  as  standard. 
But  when  you  proved  yourself  right  by  actual  experi 
ment  we  had  no  choice  in  the  matter." 

"  Uncle  Peabody  has  been  very  persistent,"  said  Helen, 
smiling.  "  His  own  conviction  in  time  becomes  conta 
gious,  docs  it  not?" 

"  That  is  just  it,"  assented  Professor  Tcsso.  "  What 
he  had  told  us  is  something  which  we  really  should  have 

known  all  the  time,  but  we  failed  to  recognize  its  im- 

[1441 


THE    SPELL 


portance.  Now  he  has  forced  us  to  accept  it,  and  the 
credit  is  properly  his." 

"  I  have  invited  Professor  Tcsso  to  take  tea  with  us 
to-morrow  afternoon,  Helen,  at  the  villa,"  said  Uncle 
Peabodj. 

"  By  all  means,"  Helen  urged,  cordially.  "  We  shall 
be  so  glad  to  welcome  you  there." 

The  sudden  exodus  of  the  guests  gave  notice  that 
something  unusual  was  occurring  below. 

"  It  must  be  the  arrival  of  the  Count  of  Turin,"  ex 
plained  Uncle  Peabody.  "  Let  us  descend  and  take  a 
look  at  Italian  royalty." 

With  the  others  they  entered  the  magnificent  ball 
room — a  modern  addition  to  the  original  villa  made  by 
Napoleon  for  his  sister  Pauline  when  she  became  Grand- 
Duchess  of  Tuscany.  In  the  centre  of  the  room,  sur 
rounded  by  his  suite,  stood  the  count,  graciously  re 
ceiving  the  guests  presented  to  him  by  his  host.  Hither 
and  thither  among  the  crowd  ran  little  flower-maidens 
bestowing  favors  upon  the  ladies  and  boutonnieres  upon 
their  escorts.  A  few  pieces  of  music  played  quietly  be 
hind  a  bank  of  palms,  the  low  strains  blending  pleasant 
ly  with  the  hum  of  conversation. 

As  Helen  and  Emory  stood  with  a  few  Italian  friends, 
a  little  apart  from  the  others,  watching  the  brilliant 
throng,  Cerini  suddenly  joined  them.  Helen  had  never 
thought  of  him  outside  the  library,  and  it  seemed  to 
her  as  if  one  of  the  chained  volumes  had  broken  away 
from  its  anchorage.  The  old  man  saw  the  surprise  in 
her  face  and  smiled  genially. 

"  I  seldom  come  to  gatherings  such  as  this,"  he  ex 
plained,  even  before  the  question  was  put  to  him ;  "  but 
his  Highness  commanded  me  to  meet  him  here."  Cerini 
10  1145J 


THE     SPELL 


smiled  again  and  looked  into  Helen's  face  with  undis 
guised  admiration.  "  This  is  where  you  belong,"  he 
assured  her,  quietly  but  enthusiastically — "  this  is  your 
element.  Do  you  not  see  that  I  was  right  that  day  at 
the  library?  You  are  even  more  beautiful  than  when  I 
saw  you  before.  There  is  a  new  strength  in  your  face. 
You  are  a  creation  of  the  master-artist,  like  a  marvellous 
painting  which  intoxicates  the  senses." 

Helen  had  no  answer,  but  the  old  man  continued : 
"  I  have  just  left  your  husband  and  his  sister- worker. 
They  are  not  beautiful — they  represent  the  wisdom  which 
one  finds  in  books.     The  world  needs  both,  my  daughter. 
Be  content." 

And  without  waiting  for  a  reply  Cerini  disappeared 
in  the  crowd  of  guests  as  suddenly  as  he  had  come. 


XIII 


EMORY  was  the  only  one  near  enough  to  Helen  to 
observe  the  interview  with  Cerini.  The  old  man's 
words  were  uttered  in  too  low  a  tone  to  reach  his 
ears,  but  Emory  saw  Helen  close  her  eyes  for  a  fraction 
of  a  second  and  heard  her  draw  a  quick  breath.  Then 
she  turned  to  him  with  a  smile  so  natural  that  he  nearly 
believed  himself  deceived,  and  found  himself  almost  con 
vinced  that  he  must  have  been  mistaken  in  what  he 
thought  he  had  discovered. 

"  Whose  little  old  man  is  that?"  Emory  queried. 

Helen  laughed.  Emory  had  a  way  of  putting  ques 
tions  in  a  form  least  expected. 

"  Monsignor  Cerini,"  she  answered,  "  and  he  belongs 
to  Jack." 

"  Oh,  he  is  the  librarian !"  Phil  recognized  the  de 
scriptions  he  had  heard  at  the  villa.  "  Interesting-look 
ing  old  chap ;  I  don't  wonder  Jack  likes  him." 

"  He  is  a  wonderful  man,"  assented  Helen ;  "  but  his 
knowledge  almost  frightens  one.  I  feel  like  an  ignorant 
child  every  time  I  meet  him." 

They  strolled  slowly  through  the  brilliant  throng  out 
into  the  court,  up  the  stairs,  and  into  the  library  again. 
The  room  was  wholly  deserted,  the  other  guests  prefer 
ring  to  watch  the  spectacle  below.  No  word  was  spoken 

[147] 


THE     SPELL 


until  Helen  threw  herself  into  a  great  chair  near  the 
balcony. 

"  What  an  awful  thing  it  is  to  have  so  little  knowl 
edge!"  she  exclaimed. 

Emory  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  At  first  he  could 
not  believe  her  serious,  but  the  expression  on  her  face 
was  convincing. 

"  Compared  to  Cerini?"  he  asked. 

"  Compared  to  any  one  who  has  brains — like  Jack  or 
Inez." 

Emory  studied  his  companion  carefully.  The  im 
pression  made  upon  him  a  few  moments  before,  then,  was 
no  hallucination. 

"  What  did  Cerini  say  which  upset  you,  Helen  ?" 

"  Cerini  ?"  Helen  repeated.  "  Why,  nothing.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  was  very  complimentary — even  gal 
lant.  Some  of  you  younger  men  could  take  lessons  from 
Cerini  in  the  gentle  art  of  flattery." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Helen,"  Emory  apologized ; 
"  I  had  no  intention  of  intruding." 

"  Dear  old  Phil,"  cried  Helen,  holding  out  her  hand 
impulsively,  "  of  course  you  had  not,  and  you  could  not 
intrude,  anyhow." 

Emory  held  the  proffered  hand  a  moment  before  it  was 
withdrawn.  "  I  can't  help  feeling  concerned  when  I  see 
something  disturb  you,"  he  said,  quietly — "  now,  any 
more  than  I  could  before." 

Helen  saw  that  she  had  not  succeeded  in  deceiving  him, 
but  was  determined  that  he  should  discover  as  little  as 
possible.  "  I  don't  believe  Florence  is  just  the  right  at 
mosphere  for  me,"  she  began.  "  I  did  not  notice  at  first 
how  much  more  every  one  here  knows  about  everything 
than  I  do,  and  it  makes  me  feel  uncomfortable.  That 

[1481 


THE    SPELL 


is  what  I  meant.  Of  course  one  expects  this  supreme 
knowledge  in  a  man  like  Cerini,  but  even  those  Flor 
entines  whom  one  meets  casually  at  receptions  such  as 
this  are  as  well  informed  on  literature  and  art  and  music 
as  those  whom  we  consider  experts  at  home." 

"  This  lack  of  knowledge  on  jour  part  does  not  seem 
to  interfere  any  with  their  admiration  for  you,"  insisted 
Emory.  "  If  Jack  took  the  trouble  to  see  how  much  at 
tention  }^ou  received  he  might  have  a  little  less  interest 
in  that  precious  work  of  his." 

"  You  must  not  speak  like  that,  Phil,"  Helen  pro 
tested.  "  Jack  is  doing  something  which  neither  you 
nor  I  can  appreciate,  but  that  is  our  own  fault  and  not 
his.  I  only  wish  I  could  understand  it.  Every  one  says 
that  his  book  will  make  him  famous,  and  then  we  all 
shall  be  proud  of  him — even  prouder  than  we  are  now." 

Emory  rose  impatiently.  "  You  are  quite  right, 
Helen,— I  certainly  don't  appreciate  it,  under  the  cir 
cumstances  ;  but  I  shall  put  my  foot  in  this  even  worse 
than  I  did  yesterday  with  Miss  Thayer,  so  I  suggest 
that  we  change  the  subject.  Come,  let  us  see  what  is 
going  on  down-stairs." 

Uncle  Peabody  met  them  in  the  court.  "  I  was  coming 
after  you,"  he  said  by  way  of  explanation.  "  Tesso  has 
just  left,  and  we  also  must  make  our  adieux.  Would  you 
mind  taking  Mr.  Emory  and  me  to  the  Florence  Club, 
Helen,  on  the  way  home?  He  might  like  to  see  it." 

Their  appearance  in  the  hall  was  a  signal  for  the  un 
attached  men  again  to  surround  Helen  with  protesta 
tions  of  regret  that  she  had  absented  herself  from  the 
reception-room,  and  Emory  watched  the  episode  with 
grim  satisfaction.  Uncle  Peabody  appeared  to  take  no 
notice  of  anything  except  his  responsibility,  and  grad- 

F149] 


THE     SPELL 


ually  guided  the  party  to  where  their  host  and  hostess 
were  standing,  and  then  out  to  the  automobile.  An  in 
vigorating  run  down  the  hill,  past  the  walls  which  shut 
out  all  but  the  luxuriant  verdure  of  the  high  cypresses, 
alternating  with  the  olive  and  lemon  trees,  and  through 
the  town,  brought  them  to  the  Piazza  Vittorio  Emanuele. 
where  the  car  paused  for  a  moment  to  allow  the  men  to 
alight.  Then,  after  brief  farewells,  Helen  continued  her 
ride  alone  to  Settignano. 

Uncle  Peabody  led  the  way  up  the  stairs  to  a  small 
room  leading  off  from  the  main  parlor  of  the  club.  Pro 
ducing  some  cigars,  he  motioned  to  Emory  to  make  him 
self  comfortable  at  one  end  of  a  great  leather-covered 
divan,  while  he  drew  up  a  chair  for  himself. 

"  I  brought  you  here  for  a  definite  purpose,"  he  an 
nounced  as  soon  as  the  preliminaries  were  arranged. 

"  I  think  I  can  divine  the  purpose,"  replied  Emory, 
striking  a  match  and  lighting  his  cigar. 

Uncle  Peabody  looked  at  his  companion  inquiringly. 

"  It  is  about  Plelen,  is  it  not?"  continued  Emory,  with 
out  waiting  for  Mr.  Cartwright  to  question  him. 

"  It  is,"  assented  Uncle  Peabody ;  "  and  your  intui 
tion  makes  my  task  the  easier." 

"  It  is  not  intuition,"  corrected  Emory ;  "  it  is  ob 
servation." 

"  Well,  call  it  what  you  like  —  the  necessity  is  the 
same.  Perhaps  I  have  no  right  to  discuss  this  matter 
with  you,  but  I  understand  you  have  known  Helen  for 
a  good  while  and  pretty  well." 

"  So  well  that  I  would  have  married  her  if  she  had  ever 
given  me  the  chance."  asserted  Emory,  calmly. 

"  What  do  you  make  out  of  the  case?" 

"  The  girl  is  desperately  unhappy." 
[150] 


THE     SPELL 


"  She  is.  But  how  are  we  going  to  help  her  without 
making  things  a  thousand  times  worse?" 

Emory  smoked  his  cigar  meditatively.  "  I  have  been 
thinking  of  that,  too,"  he  replied  at  length,  "  but  with 
no  more  success,  apparently,  than  yourself.  It  is  a 
rather  delicate  matter." 

"  There  is  no  question  about  that."  Uncle  Peabody 
spoke  decisively.  "  And  this  is  all  the  more  reason  why 
we  should  talk  things  over  together.  We  are  the  only 
ones  who  can  possibly  straighten  matters  out,  and  I  am 
not  at  all  certain  that  we  can  accomplish  anything." 

"  Do  you  think  Armstrong  himself  realizes  the  situa 
tion?" 

"  Not  in  the  slightest.     He  is  absolutely  absorbed." 

"How  about  Miss  Thayer?" 

Uncle  Peabody  looked  at  Emory  interrogatively. 
"  What  have  you  observed  about  Miss  Thayer?"  he 
asked. 

"  That  she  is  exceedingly  sensitive  upon  the  subject 
of  her  engagement,"  replied  Emory,  with  feeling. 

"  Have  you  come  to  any  conclusion  as  to  the  reason?" 

Emory  was  surprised  by  the  implied  meaning  in  Mr. 
Cartwright's  words.  "  Why,  no,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"  I  was  here  when  De  Peyster  proposed  to  her,"  Uncle 
Peabody  continued. 

"  Then  she  was  the  girl !" 

"  She  was  the  girl,"  repeated  his  companion.  "  When 
she  threw  him  over,  she  did  not  tell  him  that  she  was  en 
gaged,  as  he  repeated  to  you,  but  that  she  loved  some 
one  else." 

A  wave  of  understanding  passed  over  Emory. 

"  And  the  some  one  else  was — Armstrong !  What  a 
stupid  fool  I've  been!"  Emory  rose  and  walked  to 

[151] 


THE    SPELL 


the  window.  Suddenly  he  turned.  "  Does  Helen  know 
this?" 

"  Without  a  doubt." 

"  Then  why  does  she  not  put  a  stop  to  it?" 

"  Now  you  have  at  length  arrived  at  my  standpoint," 
replied  Uncle  Peabody,  with  satisfaction.  "  Helen  knows 
it,  I  am  convinced.  Miss  Thayer,  of  course,  knows  her 
own  feelings.  Armstrong  is  head  over  heels  in  this  al 
leged  masterpiece  of  his,  and  I  give  him  credit  for  ap 
preciating  Miss  Thayer's  sentiments  toward  him  as  lit 
tle  as  he  does  Helen's  sufferings.  Except  for  this  I 
should  not  think  of  interfering,  but  under  the  circum 
stances  I  feel  that  between  us  we  may  have  a  chance  to 
straighten  things  out  before  the  principals  know  that 
there  is  anything  which  needs  straightening." 

"  That  is  a  fair  statement  of  the  basis  of  the  con 
spiracy,"  said  Emory,  returning  to  his  scat ;  "  but  have 
you  worked  out  the  details  as  carefully?" 

"  No,"  admitted  Uncle  Peabody,  frankly.  "  That  is 
a  more  difficult  proposition,  and  I  doubt  if  we  can  formu 
late  any  definite  plan.  It  occurred  to  me  that  if  we 
joined  forces  we  would  stand  a  better  chance  of  hitting 
upon  some  expedient  when  the  opportunity  offered." 

"  Helen  seems  more  or  less  reconciled,  in  spite  of  what 
we  know  she  feels,"  said  Emory,  reflectively ;  "  you 
heard  what  she  said  to  Armstrong  last  evening  about 
helping  his  work  to  a  glorious  success?" 

"  She  is  trying  desperately  to  be  reconciled,  and  she 
thinks  she  has  concealed  her  real  feelings,"  replied  Uncle 
Peabody ;  "  but  she  is  eating  her  heart  out  all  the  time." 

"  Well,  I  wish  I  thought  I  could  help  her  some  way." 
Emory  rose  and  extended  his  hand.  "  I  have  never  look 
ed  upon  myself  as  much  of  a  success  in  matters  like  this, 

[1521 


Mr.  Cartwright,  but  there  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  for 
Helen — even  to  helping  her  to  get  a  divorce !" 

Uncle  Peabody  smiled  as  he  took  Emory's  hand  and 
held  it  firmly.  "  I  suspect  you  will  have  to  eliminate 
yourself  if  you  hope  to  accomplish  anything.  If  I  know 
Helen  at  all,  she  will  never  take  another  chance  if  this 
first  venture  turns  out  unfortunately.  But  let  us  hope 
that  all  will  right  itself,  and  that  we  may  be  the  direct 
or  indirect  means  of  its  so  doing." 

"  Amen  to  that,"  assented  Emory,  warmly.  "  I  have 
wanted  Helen  always,  but  I  should  be  a  brute  if  I  did 
not  want  her  happiness  first  of  all." 

"  I  thought  I  had  made  no  mistake,"  replied  Uncle 
Peabody.  "  I  rather  pride  myself  on  my  skill  in  reading 
human  nature,  and  I  should  have  been  disappointed  in 
you  had  you  failed  me." 

Uncle  Peabody  was  late  in  returning  to  the  viUa,  and 
the  family  had  already  seated  themselves  at  dinner. 

"  We  are  all  going  for  a  moonlight  ride,"  announced 
Armstrong  as  Mr.  Cartwright  apologized  for  his  tardy 
appearance,  "  and  we  felt  sure  you  would  soon  be  here. 
Did  you  ever  see  such  a  perfect  evening?" 

Uncle  Peabody  resolved  to  try  an  experiment.  "  May 
I  venture  to  suggest  an  amendment?"  he  asked. 

"  What  improvement  can  you  possibly  make  on  my 
plan?"  Armstrong  was  incredulous. 

"  Simply  that  Miss  Thayer  and  I  give  you  and  Helen 
a  chance  to  enjoy  the  ride  by  yourselves,  after  the  style 
of  true  honeymooners." 

Helen's  face  flushed  with  pleasure,  but  Armstrong  re 
sented  any  change  in  his  original  arrangement. 

"  Nonsense !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Helen  and  I  are  not  so 
[153] 


THE     SPELL 


sentimental,  I  trust,  as  to  wish  to  keep  you  and  Miss 
Thayer  from  enjoying  the  ride  with  us  on  such  a  night 
as  this." 

"  I  think  Mr.  Cartwright's  amendment  an  excellent 
one,"  said  Inez.  "  It  will  be  much  better  for  you  and 
Helen  to  go  by  yourselves." 

"  Now  you  have  broken  up  the  whole  party !"  Arm 
strong  turned  petulantly  on  Uncle  Peabody.  "  Miss 
Thayer  has  been  working  all  the  afternoon  in  the  library, 
and  needs  the  refreshment  of  the  air  even  more  than 
Helen." 

"  If  Miss  Thayer  will  permit,"  replied  Uncle  Pea- 
body,  maintaining  his  ground  stoutly,  "  I  will  do  my  best 
to  make  her  evening  an  agreeable  one." 

Armstrong  was  not  appeased,  but  could  hardly  do 
other  than  accept  the  situation.  After  seeing  the  car 
depart  from  the  court-yard,  Uncle  Peabody  and  Miss 
Thayer  strolled  out  to  the  garden,  where  he  arranged 
their  chairs  so  that  they  might  gain  the  choicest  view  of 
the  moon-illumined  city  and  the  winding  river,  silver  in 
the  soft,  pale  light. 

"  I  have  kept  you  from  an  interesting  experience," 
Uncle  Peabody  began,  "  but  I  know  how  much  it  will 
mean  to  Helen  to  have  her  husband  all  to  herself.  You 
understand,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  do  understand,  perfectly,"  replied  Inez,  heartily. 
"  I  am  only  ashamed  that  I  did  not  think  of  it  myself; 
but  it  is  difficult  to  oppose  Mr.  Armstrong  in  anything 
he  has  his  heart  set  on,  and  I  confess  that  I  do  not 
possess  your  courage." 

"  I  doubt  if  I  should  have  been  so  courageous  had  I 
realized  how  disagreeable  he  would  be.  Armstrong  has 
changed  much  in  the  few  weeks  I  have  known  him," 

[154] 


THE     SPELL 


Uncle  Peabody  made  his  assertion  boldly,  and  then 
waited  for  a  response.  Inez  looked  up  quickly. 

"  I  think  it  is  hard  for  any  one  to  understand  Mr. 
Armstrong  without  seeing  him  at  his  work.  He  has 
changed,  as  you  say,  but  it  is  a  change  which  no  one — 
least  of  all  himself — could  prevent." 

Uncle  Peabody  expected  a  defence — that  was  but  nat 
ural. 

"  I  don't  think  I  quite  follow  you,"  he  said,  wishing 
to  draw  her  out.  "  Would  you  mind  telling  me  more 
about  the  work,  and  what  there  is  in  it  to  affect  him  in 
this  way  ?" 

"  I  wish  I  could  make  it  clear  to  you,  for  unless  you 
understand  it  you  will  do  him  a  great  injustice."  Inez 
again  keyed  herself  up  to  her  self-appointed  task. 
"  Helen  asked  me  the  same  question  last  evening,  and 
I  realized  while  talking  with  her  how  poorly  fitted  I 
myself  am  to  attempt  any  explanation." 

The  girl  paused.  She  knew  that  her  companion  would 
analyze  what  she  said  much  more  thoroughly  than  Helen 
had  done. 

"  Were  you  ever  under  an  hypnotic  influence  ?"  she 
asked,  suddenly. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Uncle  Peabody,  calmly.  "  But  you 
don't  mean  to  say  that  this  has  happened  to  Jack?" 

"  Yes  and  no,"  Inez  continued.  "  If  I  believed  in  re 
incarnation  I  should  say  without  hesitation  that  Mr. 
Armstrong  was  living  over  again,  here  in  Florence,  an 
existence  which  he  had  previously  experienced  centuries 
ago.  As  I  don't  believe  in  this,  I  can  simply  say  that 
there  is  a  something  which  comes  from  an  intimate  con 
tact  with  these  master-spirits  of  the  past  which  is  so  com 
pelling  that  it  takes  one  out  of  the  present  and  assumes 

[155] 


THE     SPELL 


complete  control  over  him.  While  we  are  at  the  library 
all  else  is  forgotten.  I  work  there  beside  him  hour  after 
hour,  yet  he  seems  entirely  unconscious  of  my  presence 
except  to  the  extent  to  which  it  assists  his  own  efforts. 
All  personality  is  absolutely  obliterated.  I  understand 
it,  because  to  a  lesser  degree  I  have  felt  it  myself.  When 
we  leave  the  library  he  becomes  more  like  himself  again ; 
but  as  he  gets  deeper  into  his  work,  his  absorption  is 
greater,  and  for  that  reason  alone,  I  believe,  he  is  less 
mindful  of  the  usual  every-day  conventions.  I  wish  I 
could  make  it  clear  to  you." 

Uncle  Peabody  did  not  reply  at  once.  What  Inez  had 
said  gave  him  a  new  viewpoint  both  of  Armstrong  and 
of  her. 

"  How  long  do  you  think  this  will  continue  ?"  he  asked 
at  length. 

"  Until  his  work  is  finished." 

"  And  when  will  that  be?" 

"  Another  month,  at  least." 

Uncle  Peabody  was  again  silent,  weighing  the  situa 
tion  from  the  present  standpoint.  "  What  is  to  become 
of  Helen  in  the  mean  time?"  he  asked,  abruptly. 

Miss  Thayer  had  anticipated  this  question.  "  Helen 
understands  the  situation  perfectly,"  she  said,  confident 
ly.  "  She  has  talked  it  over  with  him  and  with  me.  It  is 
a  sacrifice  on  her  part  to  be  separated  from  her  husband, 
especially  at  this  time,  but  it  is  one  which  she  is  willing 
to  accept  for  her  husband's  sake." 

"  Would  you  be  willing  to  accept  it  were  the  condi 
tions  reversed?" 

Inez  flushed,  but  stood  her  ground  bravely.  "  Per 
haps  not,"  she  admitted :  "  but  Helen  is  a  stronger 

woman  than  I." 

[156] 


THE     SPELL 


"  She  docs  not  think  so." 

"  Helen  is  a  much  stronger  woman  than  she  herself 
realizes." 

Uncle  Peabody  was  thoughtful.  "  Let  me  ask  you 
one  more  question.  Do  you  think  that  this  spell,  or  in 
fluence,  or  whatever  you  may  call  it,  in  any  way  affects 
Armstrong's  affection  for  his  wife?" 

"  I  am  sure  that  it  does  not,"  replied  Inez,  with  de 
cision.  "  His  devotion  to  Helen  must  be  even  stronger, 
because  he  can  but  -  appreciate  the  splendid  generosity 
she  is  showing." 

"  He  certainly  adopts  curious  methods  of  demonstrat 
ing  it." 

"  But  consider  the  influences  he  is  under !"  Inez  urged. 

Uncle  Peabody  admired  the  girl's  handling  of  the  cat 
echising  he  had  given  her.  He  looked  steadily  into  her 
face  before  replying. 

"  You  are  a  noble  champion,  Miss  Thayer,"  he  said, 
at  length. 

"  That  is  because  I  have  faith  in  the  cause,"  responded 
Inez,  smiling.  "  I  have  been  brought  up  to  believe  that 
every  married  woman  must  at  some  time  in  her  life  make 
a  supreme  sacrifice  for  her  husband.  I  only  hope  that 
when  my  turn  comes  the  sacrifice  may  be  made  for  so 
good  a  cause." 

"  This  is  another  version  of  the  chastening  of  the 
spirit,"  added  Uncle  Peabody ;  "  but  I  am  thinking  of  a 
certain  spirit  which  received  so  much  chastening  that  it 
never  revived.  I  sincerely  trust  that  history  may  not 
repeat  itself." 


XIV 


~1"T"NCLE  PEABODY  was  entirely  right  when  he 
I  stated  that  Armstrong  had  become  a  changed  man 
since  he  first  came  to  Florence ;  Miss  Thayer  was 
right  when  she  attributed  this  change  to  the  associations 
into  which  he  had  thrown  himself — yet  both  were  wrong 
in  thinking  him  unconscious  of  his  own  altered  condition. 
As  he  told  Helen,  he  had  ever  felt  some  irresistible  in 
fluence  drawing  him  back  to  Florence,  even  while  en 
grossed  in  the  duties  of  his  profession.  Just  what  the 
craving  was  he  could  not  have  explained  even  to  himself. 
What  he  should  find  in  Florence  had  taken  no  definite 
form  in  his  mind,  yet  the  longing  possessed  him  in  spite 
of  all  he  could  do  to  reason  with  himself  against  it. 

After  his  arrival  in  Florence,  even,  it  was  not  until 
Cerini  suggested  the  Michelangelo  letters  that  he  formu 
lated  any  plan  to  gratify  his  long-anticipated  expecta 
tions.  His  arguments  Avith  himself  had  prepared  him 
for  a  disappointment.  It  had  been  a  boyish  fancy,  he 
said,  inwardly ;  he  had  felt  the  influences  of  his  en 
vironment  simply  because  he  had  been  young  and  im 
pressionable,  and  it  was  quite  impossible  that  he  should 
now,  man-grown,  prove  susceptible  to  anything  so  in 
explicable  as  what  he  had  felt  in  his  earlier  days. 

Then  came  the  experience  with  Cerini  and  Miss 
Thayer.  She  was  a  woman,  truly,  and  subject  to  a 

[158] 


THE    SPELL 


woman's  physical  frailties,  yet  she  was  intellectually 
strong,  and  could  not  so  have  yielded  to  anything  but 
a  controlling  power.  Here,  then,  was  a  second  person 
ality  affected  in  a  like  manner  as  himself  by  the  same 
influences.  He  did  not  try  to  explain  it;  he  accepted 
it  as  an  evidence  that  this  influence,  whatever  it  was, 
existed  and  made  itself  manifest.  From  that  moment 
he  merged  his  own  individuality  into  those  to  whom 
Cerini  with  gentle  suasion  introduced  him.  The  librarian 
incited  him  by  his  own  enthusiasm,  and  then  directed 
him  along  the  paths  which  he  himself  so  loved  to  tread. 

But  Cerini  did  not  foresee  the  extremes  to  which  his 
pupil's  devotion  would  carry  him.  Day  by  day  Arm 
strong  felt  himself  becoming  more  and  more  separated 
from  all  about  him,  and  more  and  more  amalgamated 
with  those  forces  which  had  preceded  him.  The  society 
of  any  save  those  who  acted  and  thought  as  he  did  failed 
to  appeal  to  him.  His  affection  for  Helen  suffered  no 
change,  except  that  she  became  less  necessary  to  him. 
As  the  work  progressed  the  intervals  away  from  the  li 
brary  seemed  longer,  and  he  found  it  more  difficult  to 
enter  into  the  life  about  him.  Then  came  an  irritability, 
entirely  foreign  to  his  nature,  which  he  could  not  curb. 

Yet  through  it  all  he  was  entirely  conscious  of  what 
was  happening.  He  compared  himself  more  than  once 
to  a  man  in  a  trance,  painfully  alive  to  all  the  prepara 
tions  going  on  about  him  for  his  own  entombment,  yet 
unable  to  cry  out  and  put  a  stop  to  it  all.  He  wished 
that  Helen  would  object  to  his  absences  and  force  him 
to  become  a  part  of  her  life  again.  He  wished  that 
Miss  Thayer  would  tire  of  the  work  and  leave  him  alone 
in  it.  In  contemplating  either  event  he  suffered  at  the 
mere  thought  of  what  such  an  interruption  would  mean 

[159] 


to  him,  he  knew  that  he  would  interpose  strenuous  ob 
jections — yet  in  a  way  he  longed  for  the  break  to  come. 

Armstrong  had  been  in  one  of  these  inexplicably  ir 
ritable  moods  when  Uncle  Peabody  crossed  him  in  his 
plan  for  the  moonlight  ride  to  San  Miniato.  As  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,  it  was  only  because  Miss  Thayer  had  com 
plained  of  a  headache  as  they  left  the  library  that  the 
idea  of  a  ride  had  occurred  to  him  at  all;  and  to  have 
Mr.  Cartwright  calmly  propose  that  she  drop  out  of  the 
planned  excursion  struck  him  as  a  distinct  intrusion  upon 
his  own  prerogatives.  The  automobile  fever  was  out  of 
his  blood  now ;  the  motor-car  had  become  to  him  merely  a 
convenience,  and  no  longer  an  exhilaration.  It  was  quite 
inevitable  that  Miss  Thayer  should  acquiesce  in  Uncle 
Peabody's  suggestion — in  fact,  she  could  do  nothing  else ; 
yet  at  the  library  she  accepted  even  his  slightest  sug 
gestion  without  question,  and  Armstrong  preferred  this 
latter  responsive  attitude.  All  in  all,  he  would  have  been 
glad  to  find  some  excuse  for  giving  up  the  ride  alto 
gether;  but  none  offered  itself,  so,  with  every  movement 
an  obvious  protest,  he  had  helped  Helen  into  the  tonneau 
and  stepped  in  after  her. 

Helen  was  hardly  in  a  happier  frame  of  mind,  yet  she 
found  herself  so  eager  for  this  time  alone  with  her  hus 
band  that  she  raised  none  of  the  obstacles  which  she 
would  have  done  a  month  earlier.  It  was  a  perfect 
June  evening,  with  the  air  cooled  enough  by  the  light 
wind  to  make  the  breeze  raised  by  the  speed  of  the 
car  agreeable  to  the  face.  The  moon  was  just  high 
enough  to  cause  deep  shadows  to  fall  across  the  road 
way  and  merge  into  fantastic  shapes  as  the  machine  ap 
proached  and  passed  over  them.  The  peasants  were  out- 
of-doors,  and  expressed  their  contentment  by  snatches  of 

[160] 


THE     SPELL 


song,  rendered  in  the  rich,  melodious  voices  which  are  the 
natural  heritage  of  this  light-hearted  people.  The  toil 
of  the  day  was  over,  and  they  were  entering  into  a  well- 
earned  riposo  before  the  duties  of  the  next  sunrise  claim 
ed  their  strength. 

"  How  peaceful  this  is !"  Helen  exclaimed,  turning  to 
her  husband.  The  breeze  had  blown  back  the  lace  scarf 
from  her  head,  and  the  moon  fell  full  upon  her  luxuriant 
hair,  lighting  her  upturned  face.  "  All  nature  is  at  rest 
and  peace,  and  the  people  reflect  the  contentment  of  the 
land." 

"  Your  uncle  is  becoming  very  dictatorial,"  replied 
Armstrong,  quite  at  variance  with  her  mood. 

"Why,  Jack!" 

Helen  was  mildly  reproachful,  yet  she  instinctively  felt 
the  necessity  of  being  cautious.  Perhaps  she  could  make 
him  forget  his  resentment. 

"  Uncle  Peabody  only  meant  to  give  us  an  opportunity 
to  be  by  ourselves.  We  have  had  so  few." 

"  He  should  have  understood  that  I  had  some  good 
reason  for  planning  matters  just  as  I  did  or  I  should 
not  have  done  it." 

"  Do  you  regret  being  alone  with  me  ?" 

Helen  struggled  to  keep  the  tears  out  of  her  voice. 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  Helen,"  replied  Armstrong,  im 
patiently.  "  That  is  not  the  point  at  all.  Miss  Thaycr 
is  tired  and  needed  this  relaxation.  Mr.  Cartwright  had 
no  right  to  interfere." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  during  which  Armstrong 
relapsed  into  a  profound  taciturnity,  while  Helen  found 
it  hard  to  know  what  tack  to  take.  She  glanced  oc 
casionally  at  her  husband,  but  could  gain  no  inspiration 
from  his  grim,  set  features. 
11  [  161  ] 


"  Tell  me,  Jack,"  she  said,  at  length,  "  is  it  not  pos 
sible  for  you  to  pursue  your  work  at  the  library  without 
having  it  make  you  so  indifferent  to  everything  else  ?" 

He  shifted  his  position  uneasily.  "  I  am  not  indif 
ferent  to  everything  else.  The  fact  that  I  proposed  this 
ride  is  an  evidence  of  that." 

"  Has  something  happened  to  make  my  companionship 
distasteful  to  you  ?" 

Armstrong  became  more  and  more  irritated.  "  I  don't 
see  why  you  are  so  possessed  to  make  me  uncomfortable, 
Helen.  But  I  understand  what  you  are  driving  at." 

"  What  am  I  driving  at?"  she  asked,  quietly. 

"  You  are  taking  this  method  to  force  me  to  put  an 
end  to  my  work." 

Helen  winced.  "  Is  that  fair,  Jack  ?  What  have  I 
said  to  you  every  time  the  subject  has  been  mentioned?" 

"  You  have  told  me  to  go  ahead,  and  then  you  have 
shown  quite  plainly  by  every  action  that  you  did  not 
mean  it." 

"  Jack  Armstrong !"  She  was  indignant  at  his  gross 
injustice. 

"What  have  I  said  each  time  the  subject  has  come 
up?"  continued  Armstrong.  "You  have  had  every  op 
portunity  to  have  your  own  way  in  this  as  in  all  other 
matters.  I  repeat  it  now — is  it  your  wish  that  I  stop  my 
work?  Say  but  the  word  and  I  will  never  enter  that 
library  again." 

Helen  was  hurt  through  and  through.  To  what  avail 
was  her  sacrifice  if  it  be  so  little  understood,  so  little 
appreciated  ? 

"  I  don't,  wish  to  be  misunderstood  in  this,"  added 
Armstrong,  as  if  in  answer  to  her  thoughts.  "  I  quite 

realize  that  I  have  asked  much  of  you  who  can  under- 

[162] 


THE     SPELL 


stand  so  little  of  what  my  book  means  to  me.  I  have 
been  entirely  frank,  and  have  accepted  from  you  the 
time  which  rightfully  belongs  to  you  in  the  spirit,  as  I 
supposed,  in  which  you  gave  it  to  me.  If  you  did  not 
mean  what  you  said,  you  have  but  to  tell  me  so  and  it 
shall  be  exactly  as  you  wish." 

"  I  have  meant  every  word  I  have  said,  Jack,"  re 
plied  Helen,  in  a  low,  strained  voice.  "  I  have  been  glad 
to  contribute  in  the  only  way  I  could  to  anything  which 
means  so  much  to  you.  I  simply  ask  you  now  whether 
it  is  necessary  for  this  absorption  to  include  all  of  your 
self  even  when  you  are  away  from  it.  I  did  not  suppose 
that  this  was  essential." 

"  You  are  exaggerating  the  situation  out  of  all  pro 
portion." 

"  I  wish  I  were,  Jack." 

Helen's  voice  had  a  tired  note  in  it  which  Armstrong 
could  not  fail  to  perceive.  He  was  amazed  by  his  own 
apathy.  Why  did  it  mean  so  little  to  him?  Why  did  he 
sit  there  beside  her  as  if  he  had  not  noticed  it  when  in 
reality  he  felt  the  pain  as  keenly  as  she  did?  He  turned 
and  looked  at  her  for  the  first  time  since  they  had  started. 
Helen  gave  no  sign  that  she  was  conscious  of  his  scrutiny, 
lying  back  with  her  cheek  resting  upon  her  hand,  her 
eyes  closed,  her  lips  quivering  now  and  then  in  spite  of 
her  supreme  effort  to  control  herself.  Always,  before, 
Armstrong  would  have  folded  her  in  his  arms  and  brushed 
away  the  heart-pains,  real  or  imaginary  as  they  might 
have  been.  Now  he  sat  watching  her  suffer  without  mak 
ing  any  effort  to  relieve  her. 

He  despised  himself  for  his  attitude.  What  wretched 
thing  had  come  between  him  and  this  girl  whom  he 
had  idolized,  and  prevented  him  from  extending  even 

[163] 


THE    SPELL 


the  common  sympathy  which  belonged  to  any  one  who 
needed  it?  What  malevolent  power  forced  him  to  be 
the  cause  of  this  sorrow  and  yet  forbade  him  the  privi 
lege  of  assuaging  it?  This  wras  not  the  lesson  learned 
from  the  humanists.  Why  should  not  he  be  able  to  give 
out  to  those  around  him  the  reflection  of  that  true  hap 
piness  which  their  work  first  taught  the  world? 

Helen  opened  her  eyes  suddenly  and  looked  full  into 
his.  Startled  at  the  expression  on  his  face,  she  sat 
upright,  keenly  anxious  and  forgetful  of  her  own 
troubles. 

"  Jack  dear,"  she  cried,  "  you  are  not  well !  You  are 
unhappy,  too!  Tell  me  what  it  all  means,  and  let  us 
understand  it  together !" 

Her  voice  brought  back  the  old  condition.  His  eyes 
lowered  and  he  withdrew  his  hand  from  Helen's  impulsive 
grasp.  With  a  heart  heavy  for  the  explanation  which 
lay  close  at  hand,  his  voice  refused  to  obey. 

"  I  am  perfectly  well,  Helen,"  he  replied.  "  Why 
should  you  think  me  otherwise?' 

The  reaction  was  great,  yet  Helen  succeeded  in  retain 
ing  her  control.  While  conscious,  during  the  weeks  past, 
of  the  change  in  her  husband's  bearing  toward  her,  she 
was  unprepared  for  his  present  attitude.  Yet  the  look 
in  his  face  when  she  had  surprised  him  by  opening  her 
eyes  was  the  old  expression  by  which  in  the  past  she  had 
known  that  something  had  touched  him  deeply — but  it 
was  intensified  be}rond  anything  she  had  ever  seen.  It 
had  always  been  her  privilege  to  comfort  him  under  these 
conditions,  and  instinctively  her  heart  sprang  forward 
to  meet  his.  Then  she  saw  the  expression  change  and 
she  grew  cold  with  apprehension. 

"  Ask  Alf  onse  to  turn  back,  please,"  she  begged. 
[164] 


THE     SPELL 


"  The  air  is  getting  chilly  and  I  think  I  would  rather 
be  home." 

In  response  to  her  desire  the  chauffeur  turned  the  car, 
and  the  ride  back  to  the  villa  was  accomplished  in  silence. 
Helen's  thoughts  ran  rampant,  but  further  conversation 
was  impossible.  Her  pain  was  now  tempered  by  her  anx 
iety.  Jack  was  not  well,  in  spite  of  his  disclaimers.  His 
close  application  to  his  work  in  the  poorly  ventilated  li 
brary  had  undoubtedly  affected  him,  and  this  was  the  ex 
planation  of  his  otherwise  inexplicable  attitude  toward 
her.  It  was  with  positive  relief  that  she  discovered  any 
explanation,  and  as  she  thought  things  over  this  relief 
lightened  the  burden  she  had  been  carrying  all  these 
weeks  more  than  anything  which  had  happened  since  the 
cloud  began  to  gather.  In  some  way  she  must  plan  to 
relieve  the  pressure  and  bring  her  husband  back  to  her 
and  to  himself  again. 

Inez  and  Uncle  Peabody  met  them  at  the  doorway. 

"  The  ride  has  done  you  good,"  said  the  latter,  giving 
his  hand  to  Helen  and  noting  the  light  in  the  girl's  eyes 
as  they  walked  toward  the  hall. 

"  I  have  left  my  scarf  in  the  car,"  said  Helen,  turning 
back  so  quickly  that  Mr.  Cartwright  had  no  opportunity 
to  offer  his  services. 

Armstrong  and  Inez  were  standing  together  on  the 
step,  and  as  Helen  approached  she  could  not  help  over 
hearing  her  husband's  reply  to  Miss  Thayer's  inquiring 
looks. 

"  You  are  the  only  one  who  understands  me,"  Arm 
strong  was  saying — "  you  are  the  only  one !" 


XV 


THE  next  afternoon  was  a  warm  one,  and  Annetta 
searched  for  some  little  time  before  she  discovered 
Uncle    Peabody    half    concealed   within    a   natural 
arbor   formed   by   the   falling   branches    of   an    ancient 
tree.     Here,  in  the  cooling  shade,  he  was  reading  over 
a  budget  of  letters  just  received  from  America.     Emory 
followed  close  behind  the  maid,  and  laughed  heartily  at 
Mr.   Cartwright's  jump  of  startled  surprise  when  An 
netta  broke  into  his  absorption  with  the  announcement 
of  "  Signor  Emori." 

"  Hello,  Emory !"  he  cried,  looking  up  genially  from 
the  letter  in  his  hand.  "  I  was  thousands  of  miles  away, 
and  two  words  from  the  lips  of  the  gentle  serving-maid 
brought  me  back  to  Florence.  Marconigrams  are  noth 
ing  compared  with  the  marvellous  exhibition  you  have 
just  witnessed." 

"  It  is  a  shame  to  interrupt  you,"  Emory  apologized. 
"  I  came  up  early  hoping  to  have  a  little  chat  with  you 
before  Professor  Tesso  and  tea-time  arrived." 

"  Don't  apologize,  I  beg  of  you,"  protested  Uncle 
Peabody,  gathering  up  his  letters  and  making  room  for 
Emory  to  sit  beside  him.  "  I  was  just  on  the  point  of  re 
turning,  anyway,  and  you  have  saved  me  the  necessity  of 
packing  up.  In  fact,  you  are  very  welcome." 

"  I  judge  your  news  is  of  an  agreeable  nature?" 
[106] 


THE    SPELL 


Emory  saw  that  Uncle  Peabody  was  eager  to  be  ques 
tioned. 

"  Things  are  advancing  famously,"  replied  Mr.  Cart- 
wright,  enthusiastically.  "  These  letters  are  from  Amer 
ica,  and  report  the  fullest  success  attending  the  experi 
ments  there  with  which  I  am  so  vitally  concerned.  But 
what  are  you  carrying  so  carefully  at  arm's-length  ?" 

Uncle  Peabody  peered  into  the  little  wicker  cage 
Emory  was  holding. 

"  Ah,  a  grillo!"  he  said.  "  Then  to  -  day  must  be 
Ascension  Day  and  the  Festa  del  Grilli.  I  had  forgotten 
the  date." 

"  So  that  explains  why  they  are  selling  these  little 
cages  with  crickets  inside  of  them  all  over  the  city.  The 
old  woman  I  bought  this  of  told  me  it  was  a  token  of 
good  luck,  so  I  brought  it  to  Helen." 

"  She  will  be  interested  in  it,"  replied  Uncle  Peabody. 
"  The  little  grillo  brought  luck  once  upon  a  time,  if  the 
legend  be  true,  and  it  may  do  so  again." 

"  Is  this  Festa  del  Grilli,  as  you  call  it,  an  annual 
festival?" 

"  Yes ;  and  as  firmly  established  as  the  Feast  of  the 
Dove  on  Easter  eve.  The  story  goes  that  an  attempt 
was  once  made  upon  the  life  of  Lorenzo  de'  Medici  in 
his  own  garden  by  the  familiar  means  of  a  goblet  of 
poisoned  wine.  As  the  would  -  be  assassin  handed  the 
goblet  to  Lorenzo  a  cricket  alighted  on  the  surface  of 
the  wine  and  immediately  expired.  Thus,  as  in  modern 
melodrama,  the  villain  was  foiled.  Since  then,  a  Floren 
tine  would  harm  a  human  being  as  soon  as  he  would  a 
grillo.  Each  year  these  cages  are  taken  into  the  homes, 
and  as  long  as  the  little  crickets  can  be  kept  alive 
good  luck  attends  the  household." 

[167] 


THE     SPELL 


"  Speaking  of  conspiracies,"  remarked  Emory,  who 
lost  no  time  in  finding  an  opening,  "  how  advances 
our  present  one?  I  have  been  thinking  of  nothing  else 
since  our  talk  about  Helen." 

Uncle  Pcabody  rose  and  glanced  around  the  garden 
from  his  point  of  vantage.  "  Careful!"  he  said,  draw 
ing  back.  "  Helen  is  coming,  and  I  can  only  say  that 
we  must  move  very  cautiously — even  more  so  than  I  sup 
posed.  I  will  tell  you  more  later." 

"  Here  we  are,  Helen,"  he  answered,  in  response  to  his 
niece's  call,  and  both  men  advanced  to  meet  her. 

"  Oh,  you  have  found  my  '  snuggery  ' !"  cried  Helen, 
seeing  them  emerge  from  the  arbor.  "  I  intended  to  keep 
that  entirely  for  myself,  but  I  will  be  generous  and  share 
it  with  you." 

"  Mr.  Emory  has  brought  you  a  talisman,"  said  Un 
cle  Peabody,  pointing  to  the  wicker  cage.  "  Perhaps  you 
will  permit  this  to  appease  your  displeasure." 

Helen  examined  with  interest  the  cage  Emory  placed 
in  her  hand. 

"  Why,  it  is  a  cricket !"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  dis 
covered  the  occupant  beneath  the  green  leaves. 

The  story  of  the  origin  of  the  festa  was  retold  and  the 
grillo  placed  under  her  special  protection. 

"  It  is  an  emblem  of  good  luck,  Helen,"  added  Emory 
— "  like  the  swastika,  only  a  great  deal  less  common 
place." 

"  Thank  you,  Phil,"  replied  Helen.  Then  she  looked 
up  at  him  suddenly.  "  Why  did  you  bring  it  to  me?" 
she  asked,  suspiciously.  "  Do  you  think  I  need  it?" 

"  I  think  we  all  need  all  the  good  luck  we  can  get, 
replied  Emor}r,  guardedly. 

"  Tesso  is  late,"  remarked  Uncle  Peabody,  opportune- 
[168] 


THE    SPELL 


ly,  looking  at  his  watch.  "  He  will  be  greatly  interested 
in  the  reports  of  these  American  experiments." 

Another  half-hour  passed  by  before  the  professor  from 
Turin  arrived.  Helen  strolled  about  the  garden  with 
Emory,  pointing  out  the  unusual  flowers  and  shrubs, 
while  Uncle  Pcabody  collected  his  letters  and  arranged 
them  in  proper  sequence.  Annetta  brought  out  the  tea- 
table  and  laid  everything  in  readiness,  returning  to  the 
house  just  in  time  to  usher  the  dignified  figure  into  the 
hall. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  disarranged  your  plans,"  apolo 
gized  the  professor,  pleased  with  the  cordiality  of  his  re 
ception.  "  I  had  a  little  experience  which  delayed  me." 

"  My  uncle  is  so  anxious  to  tell  you  of  some  good  tid 
ings,  professor,  that  he  has  almost  become  impatient," 
replied  Helen,  smiling.  "  You  observe  that  I  say  '  al 
most,'  do  you  not  ?" 

"  It  would  never  do  for  him  to  become  impatient,  would 
it  ?"  replied  Tesso,  turning  to  his  friend  —  "  you  the 
disciple  of  Cornaro  and  the  example  to  us  all!  But  I 
myself  am  weaker — I  admit  my  impatience." 

Uncle  Peabody  and  Emory  drew  up  the  chairs,  and 
Tesso  seated  himself  next  to  Mr.  Cartwright  with  ob 
vious  expectancy. 

"  You  recall  the  results  of  my  own  experiments  in 
attempting  to  show  increased  muscular  and  mental  en 
durance  as  a  result  of  eating  in  right  manner  what  the 
appetite  selects  instead  of  eating  in  wrong  manner  what 
the  doctors  advise?"  began  Uncle  Peabody. 

"  And  incidentally  demonstrating  that  the  existing 
standard  of  minimum  nutrition  for  man  was  three  times 
too  large?"  queried  Tesso. 

"  Yes.     You  all  were  very  generous,  but  I  know  you 
[169] 


THE     SPELL 


attributed  the  results  in  a  measure  to  my  own  personal 
peculiarities." 

"  You  are  right  to  a  certain  extent,"  admitted  Tesso, 
"  yet,  so  far  as  the  experiment  went,  it  proved  that  your 
theory  was  correct." 

"  Now  I  have  further  evidence  to  add  which  is  over 
whelming,"  continued  Uncle  Peabody,  triumphantly. 
"  For  the  last  six  months  experiments  have  been  in 
progress  in  America,  taking  as  subjects  groups  of  men 
in  different  walks  of  life — college  professors,  athletes, 
and  soldiers.  To-day  I  have  received  a  report  of  the 
results.  In  every  instance,  on  an  intake  of  less  than  the 
recognized  minimum  standard,  the  subjects  improved  in 
physical  condition  and  increased  their  strength  efficiency 
from  twenty-five  to  one  hundred  per  cent.  Think  of 
that,  Tesso  —  from  twenty  -  five  to  one  hundred  per 
cent. !" 

"  I  congratulate  you  heartily,  my  dear  friend,"  replied 
the  professor,  warmly.  "  The  effects  of  this  will  be  most 
far-reaching.  I  foresaw  that  you  might  demonstrate  a 
new  minimum,  but  I  had  not  expected  that  an  increased 
efficiency  would  accompany  it." 

"  I  wish  you  would  introduce  this  discovery  of  yours 
to  the  Harvard  football  team,"  remarked  Emory,  feel 
ingly.  "  Perhaps  it  would  result  in  a  few  more  victories 
on  the  right  side." 

"  It  certainly  would  help  matters,"  assented  Uncle 
Peabody,  with  confidence.  "  All  this  so-called  training- 
is  necessary  only  because  of  the  abuse  which  the  average 
man's  stomach  suffers  from  its  owner.  My  theory  is  that 
any  man,  college  athlete  or  otherwise,  can  keep  in  perfect 
condition  all  the  time,  simply  by  following  a  few  easy 
rules  and  by  knowing  how  to  take  care  of  himself.  It 

[170] 


THE     SPELL 


is  just  as  important  to  be  in  training  for  his  every-day 
life  as  for  an  athletic  contest." 

"  How  did  the  experiments  result  with  the  athletes  ?" 
Emory  inquired. 

"  These  records  are  the  most  interesting  of  all,"  re 
plied  Uncle  Peabody,  referring  to  his  letter.  "  This 
group  included  track  athletes,  football  players,  the  in 
tercollegiate  all-around  champion,  and  several  others — 
all  at  full  training.  They  had  already  increased  their 
strength  and  endurance  efficiency  at  least  twenty  -  five 
per  cent,  during  the  training  period  before  taking  up 
the  new  system.  In  four  months,  eating  whatever  they 
craved,  but  using  only  the  amount  demanded  by  their 
appetites  and  giving  it  careful  treatment  in  the  mouth, 
these  athletes  reduced  the  amount  of  their  food  from  one- 
third  to  one-half,  and  increased  their  strength  and  en 
durance  records  from  twenty-five  to  one  hundred  per 
cent." 

"  You  ought  to  feel  pretty  well  satisfied  with  that," 
said  Emory. 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  replied  Uncle  Peabody,  "  as  far  as 
it  goes,  but  I  hope  for  far  more  important  results  than 
these." 

"  Indeed?"  queried  Professor  Tesso.  "  I  shared  the 
thought  expressed  by  Mr.  Emory  that  your  ambition 
ought  now  to  be  satisfied." 

Uncle  Peabody  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  I  wonder 
if  I  dare  tell  you  what  my  whole  scheme  really  is,"  he 
said,  at  length. 

"  You  can't  startle  me  any  more  than  you  did  with 
your  original  proposition  three  years  ago,"  encouraged 
the  professor,  smiling.  "  At  that  time  I  could  but  con 
sider  you  a  physiological  heretic." 

[171] 


THE     SPELL 


"  Tcsso,"  said  Uncle  Peabody,  deliberately,  "  the  re 
sults  of  these  experiments  confirm  me  absolutely  that  I 
am  on  the  right  track.  These  revelations  on  the  subject 
of  nutrition  are  but  the  spokes  of  the  great  movement  I 
have  at  heart — or  perhaps,  more  properly  speaking,  they 
are  the  hub  into  which  the  spokes  are  being  fitted.  What 
I  really  hope  and  expect  to  do  is  to  put  education  on  a 
physiological  basis,  and  to  demonstrate  that  it  is  possible 
to  cultivate  progressive  efficiency — that  a  man  of  sixty 
ought  to  be  more  powerful,  physically  and  intellectually, 
than  a  man  of  forty.  I  can  see  no  reason,  logically,  for 
one  to  retrograde  as  rapidly  as  men  do  now,  but  this  de 
pends  upon  his  knowing  how  to  run  the  human  engine 
intelligently  and  economically  and  thus  keeping  it  al 
ways  in  repair." 

"  You  astonish  me,  truly,"  said  Tesso,  thoughtfully, 
"  yet  I  can  advance  no  argument  except  faulty  human 
experience  to  refute  your  theory.  In  fact,  you  yourself 
are  a  living  demonstration  of  its  truth." 

"  Then  there  would  be  no  old  age?"  queried  Helen. 

"  There  would  be  age  just  the  same,"  replied  Uncle 
Peabody,  "  but  it  would  be  ripe  and  natural  age,  with 
only  such  infirmities  as  come  from  accident;  and  less  of 
these,  since  disease  would  find  fewer  opportunities  to 
fasten  itself  upon  its  victims.  If  all  the  world  knew  what 
some  know  the  death-rate  could  be  cut  in  two,  the  aver 
age  of  human  efficiency  doubled,  and  the  cost  of  neces 
sary  sustenance  halved." 

"  Mr.  Cartwright,"  said  Professor  Tcsso,  impressive 
ly,  "  if  you  succeed  in  carrying  through  this  great  re 
form  of  yours,  even  in  part,  you  will  be  the  greatest 
benefactor  of  mankind  the  world  has  known." 

"  It  is  too  large  a  contract  to  be  carried  through  by 
[1721 


THE    SPELL 


any  single  one,  but  my  confidence  in  the  final  outcome  is 
based  on  the  intelligent  interest  which  others  are  taking 
in  my  work.  I  am  glad  you  do  not  think  the  idea  chi 
merical.  It  encourages  me  to  keep  at  it  with  tireless  ap 
plication." 

"  Dare  I  interrupt  with  so  prosaic  a  suggestion  as  a 
cup  of  tea?"  asked  Helen,  as  there  came  a  lull  in  the  con 
versation. 

"  Mr.  Cartwright  has  given  me  so  much  to  think  about 
that  a  little  relaxation  will  be  grateful,"  replied  the  pro 
fessor.  "  Perhaps  you  would  be  interested  if  I  gave 
you  an  account  of  the  experience  which  delayed  me  this 
afternoon  ?" 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Helen,  as  she  prepared  the  tea. 
"  I  am  sure  it  was  an  interesting  one." 

"  You  may  not  know  that  I  have  a  great  love  for  the 
romantic,"  confessed  Professor  Tesso.  "  It  seems  a  far 
cry  from  my  every-day  life,  but  sometime  I  mean  to  pre 
pare  an  essay  upon  the  subject  of  the  relation  between 
science  and  romance.  In  fact,  I  believe  them  to  be  very 
closely  allied." 

"  What  a  clever  idea !"  cried  Helen.  "  If  you  ever 
prove  that  to  be  true  it  will  explain  a  lot  of  things." 

"  Perhaps  I  can  do  it  sometime,"  continued  the  sci 
entist,  complacently,  "  and  in  the  mean  time  I  gratify 
my  whim  by  taking  observations  whenever  the  oppor 
tunity  offers.  To-day  I  had  a  most  charming  illustra 
tion,  and  I  became  so  much  interested  that  it  made  me 
late  in  coming  to  you." 

"  You  certainly  have  an  admirable  excuse,"  assented 
his  hostess. 

"  I  suspect  that  the  objects  of  my  observation  are 
fellow-patriots  of  yours,  but  I  am  not  certain.  The  man 

[173] 


THE    SPELL 


was  a  strong,  fine-looking  fellow  with  ability  and  de 
termination  written  clearly  in  his  face.  He  was  evident 
ly  a  deep  student — perhaps  a  professor  in  some  one  of 
your  American  colleges.  His  companion,  the  heroine  of 
my  story,  was  a  small  woman,  but  so  intense!  I  think 
it  was  her  intensity  which  first  attracted  my  attention." 

"  I  am  sure  they  could  not  have  been  Americans,  pro 
fessor,"  interrupted  Helen.  "  No  American  woman 
would  display  her  emotion  like  that,  I  am  sure. — Do 
you  take  cream,  and  how  many  lumps  of  sugar,  please?" 

"  You  may  be  right,  of  course,"  continued  Tcsso,  giv 
ing  her  the  necessary  information.  "  In  fact,  my  whole 
story  is  based  upon  supposition.  However,  as  they  sat 
there  together,  first  he  would  say  something  to  her,  and 
they  would  look  into  each  other's  faces,  and  then  she 
would  say  something  to  him,  and  the  operation  would 
be  repeated.  They  spoke  little,  but  the  silent  communion 
of  their  hearts  as  they  looked  at  each  other  spoke  more 
eloquently  than  words.  It  was  beautiful  to  behold. 
'  There,'  I  said  to  myself,  '  is  a  perfect  union  of  well- 
mated  souls.  What  a  pity  that  they  must  ever  go  out 
into  the  world  and  run  the  risk  of  having  something 
commonplace  come  between  them  and  their  devotion !'  ' 

"  Splendid !"  cried  Helen.  "  How  I  wish  I  might  have 
been  with  you !" 

"  The  whole  episode  could  not  have  failed  to  interest 
you  as  it  did  me."  The  professor  was  ingenuously  sin 
cere  in  his  narrative.  "  In  these  days  one  so  seldom  sees 
husbands  and  wives  properly  matched  up.  Of  course,  it 
is  quite  possible  that  when  this  pair  I  speak  of  are  act 
ually  married  they  will  quarrel  like  cats  and  dogs.  But 
for  the  present  their  devotion  was  so  natural,  so  un 
tainted  by  the  world's  actualities,  that  I  confess  myself 

[174] 


guilty  of  having  deliberately  watched  them  far  beyond 
the  bounds  of  common  decency7." 

"  You  should  certainly  pursue  your  investigations 
further,"  said  Uncle  Peabody.  "  After  having  discov 
ered  psychological  subjects  in  a  man  and  a  woman  per 
fectly  adapted  to  each  other,  it  would  be  a  pity  not  to 
continue  your  researches  that  their  perfections  might  be 
recorded  for  the  benefit  of  others  less  fortunate." 

"  Have  you  no  idea  who  they  were?"  asked  Emory. 

"  Not  the  slightest.  I  might  have  found  out,  as  my 
friend,  whom  I  went  to  see,  must  know  them ;  but  I  was 
aghast  when  I  discovered  the  hour,  and  ran  away  without 
so  much  as  leaving  my  name." 

"  Where  did  all  this  happen  ?"  asked  Helen. 

"  At  the  Lauren/iana,"  replied  Tesso.  "  I  went  to 
call  on  my  old  friend  Cerini."  The  professor  laughed 
guiltily.  "  I  hope  he  never  learns  the  reason  why  I 
failed  to  keep  my  appointment !" 

Helen  placed  her  cup  abruptly  upon  the  table  and 
stared  stonily  at  Tesso.  Uncle  Peabody  and  Emory 
glanced  quickly  at  each  other  in  absolute  helplessness. 
The  professor,  however,  failed  to  notice  the  effect  of  his 
words  upon  his  auditors ;  he  was  too  much  amused  by  the 
mental  picture  of  Cerini  waiting  for  him  while  he,  only 
a  few  feet  away  from  the  librarian's  study,  was  grati 
fying  his  love  for  the  romantic. 

"May  I  join  you?"  cried  a  voice  behind  Helen,  as 
Inez  Thayer  approached  unnoticed  in  the  dim  light. 
"  Mr.  Armstrong  went  down  to  the  station  to  send  a 
cable,  so  I  came  back  alone." 

"  Inez — Miss  Thayer,  let  me  present  Professor  Tesso," 
said  Helen,  mechanically. 

The  professor  held  out  his  hand  and  stepped  toward 
[175] 


THE     SPELL 


her.     As  the  features  of  her  face  became  clear  a  great 
joy  overwhelmed  him. 

"  My  heroine !"  he  cried,  turning  to  the  others.  "  This 
is  the  heroine  of  my  story !  Now,  my  dear  Mr.  Cart- 
wright,  I  can  record  these  perfections  for  the  benefit  of 
others  less  fortunate!" 


XVI 


WHAT   happened   after   Inez   arrived,   how   she 
herself  had  acted,  and  how   Professor  Tesso's 
departure   had   been   accomplished   remained   a 
blank  to  Helen.    All  that  was  clear  to  her  was  the  pain — 
the  sharp,  aching  pain — which  came  to  her  with  a  reali 
zation  of  the  true  significance  of  the  story  Tesso  told. 
The  crisis  was  coming  fast,  Helen  was  conscious  of  that ; 
she  even  wondered  if  it  was  not  at  hand  already. 

Throughout  the  long,  sleepless  night  Helen  reviewed 
the  events  of  the  brief  months  of  her  married  life.  She 
even  began  earlier  than  that,  and  recalled  those  days  in 
Boston  when  Jack  Armstrong  had  appeared  before  her 
first  as  an  acquaintance,  then  as  a  friend — sympathetic, 
helpful,  congenial — and  finally  as  a  suitor  for  her  hand. 
As  she  looked  back  now  the  period  of  friendship  was  re 
called  with  the  greatest  happiness.  Perhaps  this  was  be 
cause  he  had  then  been  more  thoughtful  of  her  and  less 
masterful,  perhaps  it  was  because  the  friendship  entailed 
less  responsibility — she  could  not  tell.  Even  during  their 
engagement  she  had  laughed  at  those  moods  which  she 
had  not  understood,  and  he  had  accepted  her  attitude 
good  -  naturcdly  and  become  himself  again.  Now  she 
wondered  how  she  had  dared  to  laugh  at  him ! 

Then  her  mind  dwelt  upon  the  ocean  voyage — those 

days   of   cloudless   happiness,   of   unalloyed  joy.      The 
12  [177] 


THE     SPELL 


visit  in  Paris,  where  the  sights,  although  not  new,  seemed 
so  different  because  of  the  companionship  of  her  hus 
band.  The  trip  to  Florence,  the  first  glimpse  of  the  Villa 
Godilombra  —  which  was  to  be  their  earliest  home  to 
gether  —  all  came  back  to  her  with  vivid  distinctness. 
And  the  day  at  Fiesole  —  that  day  when  her  husband 
had  become  a  boy  again,  and  had  shown  her  a  side  of  his 
nature  so  unreserved,  so  natural  that  she  had  felt  a  new 
world  opening  before  her,  a  new  happiness,  the  like  of 
which  she  had  never  known. 

"  Oh,  Jack !"  she  cried,  aloud,  "  why  could  not  that 
day  at  Fiesole  have  lasted  forever!" 

Still  the  panorama  of  reminiscence  continued.  That 
evening  when  De  Peyster,  all  unconsciously,  repeated  to 
her  those  words  of  Inez'  which  first  altered  the  aspect  of 
her  entire  world  was  clearly  recalled.  Perhaps  she  might 
have  prevented  the  present  crisis  had  she  recognized  the 
danger  then  and  acted  upon  the  information  she  had  un 
intentionally  received.  Perhaps  if  she  had  in  some  way 
interfered  with  the  work  at  the  library,  and  thus  pre 
vented  the  constant  companionship  of  her  husband  and 
Inez,  the  trouble  might  have  been  averted.  But  she 
would  have  despised  herself  had  she  done  that.  If  she 
could  hold  her  husband's  love  only  by  preventing  him 
from  meeting  other  women  her  happiness  had  indeed 
never  been  secure. 

And  she  had  tried  to  enter  into  his  life,  to  understand 
this  phase  of  his  nature  which,  after  all  her  efforts,  had 
baffled  her  intentions.  She  had  gone  to  the  library  with 
him,  expecting  to  apply  herself  to  her  self  -  appointed 
task  until  she  succeeded  in  satisfying  even  so  exacting 
a  master  as  she  knew  her  husband  to  be.  He  would  have 
been  patient  with  her ;  he  would  have  appreciated  the  love 

[178] 


THE     SPELL 


which  prompted  her  efforts,  arid  all  would  have  been  well. 
But  Cerini  had  interfered.  She  could  hear  his  voice  now ; 
she  could  see  the  expression  on  his  face  as  he  spoke 
the  words,  "  By  not  interfering  with  this  character- 
building,  you,  his  wife,  will  later  reap  rich  returns." 
Helen  laughed  bitterly  to  herself.  She  was  reaping 
the  rich  returns  now  • —  rich  in  sorrow  and  pain  and 
suffering. 

Perhaps  she  could  have  forced  the  crisis  to  come  when 
Inez'  confession  to  De  Peyster  had  been  disclosed  by 
Emory.  Jack's  conduct  at  that  time  had  almost  brought 
Helen's  resentment  to  the  breaking-point ;  but  what  Inez 
had  told  her  afterward  had  made  her  feel  more  in  sym 
pathy  with  him,  even  though  she  understood  him  no  bet 
ter  than  before.  "  Your  husband  is  a  god  among  them 
all,"  Inez  had  said ;  "  you  will  be  so  proud  of  him — so 
proud  that  he  belongs  to  you."  She  was  proud  of  him, 
but  her  pride  could  in  no  way  make  up  to  her  for  the 
loss  of  his  affection.  In  her  mind's  eye  she  could  see 
him,  with  his  masterpiece  completed,  receiving  the  world's 
plaudits,  but  entirely  unmindful  of  her,  his  wife,  who 
had  stood  aside  and  made  it  possible  for  him  to  accom 
plish  it  all.  Oh,  it  was  too  cruel,  too  unfair!  Helen 
buried  her  head  in  the  pillows  and  moaned  piteously. 

She  lived  over  again  that  one  moment  in  the  auto 
mobile,  that  one  look  in  her  husband's  face  which  had 
given  her  relief.  It  had,  indeed,  been  a  brief  respite! 
At  that  moment  she  felt  that  Jack's  love  for  her  still 
existed,  strong  and  deathless,  in  the  face  of  temporary 
abstraction.  With  this  certainty  she  could  endure  in 
patience  whatever  sacrifices  were  necessary  to  win  him 
back  to  herself.  But  Jack's  words  to  Inez  on  the  steps, 
"  You  are  the  only  one  who  understands  me " — there 

[179] 


THE    SPELL 


could  be  no  mistake  there.  It  was  to  Inez  and  not  to 
her  that  he  turned  for  understanding  and  for  comfort. 

All  through  the  day  she  had  tried  to  deceive  herself 
into  believing  that  even  this  was  the  result  of  some  mental 
illness  from  which  Jack  was  suffering,  but  Tesso  had 
added  just  the  necessary  detail  to  destroy  even  the  sem 
blance  of  comfort  to  which  she  had  so  tenaciously  clung. 
"  A  perfect  union  of  well-mated  souls,"  the  professor  had 
called  them.  "  What  a  pity  to  have  something  common 
place  come  between  them  and  their  devotion !"  And  she 
was  that  "  commonplace  something  " ! 

At  all  events,  the  main  point  had  been  definitely  set 
tled.  For  weeks  she  had  known  that  Inez  loved  Jack ; 
now  she  felt  sure  that  this  affection  must  be  reciprocated. 
She  should  have  known  it  sooner,  she  told  herself.  "  I 
have  been  such  a  coward,"  she  said,  inwardly — "  I  could 
not  bear  to  know  for  a  certainty  what  I  feared  to  be 
true."  Now  the  worst  that  could  happen  had  happened. 
Jack  would  in  all  probability  be  the  last  one  to  suggest 
any  break.  He  would  keep  on  as  at  present  with  his  book 
— perhaps  he  might  extend  the  work  somewhat,  in  order 
to  be  with  Inez  a  little  longer;  but  when  this  was  com 
pleted  he  would  come  back  to  her  again,  his  obsession 
would  disappear,  and  outwardly  there  would  be  no 
change.  They  would  return  to  Boston  and  be  received 
by  their  friends  with  glad  acclaim,  and  with  congratula 
tions  upon  the  happy  months  of  the  honey-moon  passed 
under  such  congenial  conditions !  Jack  would  be  an  ex 
emplary  husband,  she  knew  that.  With  the  book  com 
pleted  and  away  from  the  overpowering  influences  which 
had  controlled  him  in  Florence  he  would  again  be  to  her, 
perhaps,  all  he  had  ever  been.  But  what  an  irony  it 

would  be! 

[180] 


THE     SPELL 


Not  for  a  moment  did  she  accuse  him  of  having  mar 
ried  her  without  believing  that  he  loved  her.  Arm 
strong's  sincerity  was  a  characteristic  which  could  never 
be  denied.  He  had  not  known  Inez  then.  Any  one 
could  see  that  he  and  Inez  were  meant  for  each  other; 
Cerini  saw  it  and  said  so;  Tesso  saw  it  and  said  so;  she 
herself  felt  it  without  a  question.  Her  marriage  to  Jack 
had  been  a  mistake,  an  awful  mistake.  If  only  he  and 
Inez  had  met  earlier !  Her  own  life  was  ruined,  but  was 
there  any  reason  why  the  tragedy  should  include  the 
others?  If  it  would  help  matters  Helen  might  be  self 
ish  enough  to  let  them  share  the  pain,  but  as  there  was 
nothing  to  be  gained  it  would  be  worse  than  selfish. 
Jack  had  no  idea  that  she  was  aware  of  the  true  condi 
tions.  He  would  oppose  her  if  she  attempted  to  take  it 
all  into  her  own  life,  yet  this  was  the  only  course  to  pur 
sue  which  could  minimize  the  suffering. 

Helen  shut  her  eyes,  but  sleep  was  still  far  distant. 
The  first  agony  had  not  run  its  course,  and  it  would  have 
been  a  misdirected  mercy  to  stem  its  flow.  There  was  no 
resentment  in  Helen's  heart,  and  at  this  she  herself  won 
dered.  Inez  was  not  to  blame  for  loving  Jack — it  was 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  She  had  tried  her 
best  to  keep  the  knowledge  of  her  affection  to  herself, 
and  but  for  the  double  accident  she  might  have  suc 
ceeded.  Jack  was  not  to  blame.  He  himself  had  not 
known  the  strength  of  the  power  which  drew  him  back 
to  Florence,  nor  could  he  have  foreseen  how  wholly  it 
would  possess  him  when  once  he  yielded  himself  to  it. 
He  had  not  sought  Inez ;  Helen  herself  had  brought 
them  together.  He  had  found  her  useful  to  him  in  his 
work;  he  had  found  her  agreeable  as  a  friend;  all  be 
yond  that  had  been  a  natural  growth  which  could  not 

[181] 


THE     SPELL 


and  perhaps  should  not  have  been  checked.  The  more 
the  pity  of  it ! 

At  first  Helen  felt  that  if  Jack  could  return  to  his  old 
self  inwardly  it  would  be  worth  the  struggle.  Then 
she  realized  that  this  could  never  be.  The  intellectual 
strength  of  her  husband  had  won  Helen's  profoundest 
admiration,  even  though  it  was  beyond  her  understand 
ing.  She  longed  to  be  able  to  enter  into  it  and  respond 
to  it  as  Inez  did,  yet  she  felt  her  limitations.  But  her 
love  had  increased  in  its  intensity  by  passing  through 
the  fire.  The  man  she  knew  now  was  infinitely  stronger 
and  grander  than  ever  before,  and  in  the  light  of  this 
new  development  of  character  she  questioned  whether 
her  affection  would  not  suffer  a  shock  if  Jack  were  to 
become  again  the  man  she  had  known  in  Boston.  This 
new  self  was  his  real  self,  and  the  self  which  he  must  be 
in  order  to  express  his  own  individuality.  It  was  even 
as  Ccrini  had  said  —  character  -  building  had  been  in 
process,  bringing  to  the  surface  qualities  which  had  lain 
dormant  perhaps  for  centuries ;  but — and  here  was  where 
Cerini's  wisdom  had  been  at  fault — this  development  had 
not  been  for  her  but  for  another. 

The  faint  rays  of  dawn  crept  in  through  the  lattice 
windows  of  Helen's  room  before  she  sank  into  a  restless 
sleep.  A  few  hours  later  Armstrong  softly  entered  the 
room  before  leaving  for  the  library  and  stood  for  several 
moments  looking  at  his  wife's  face,  in  which  the  lines  of 
her  struggle  still  left  their  mark.  When  he  returned  to 
the  hall  he  met  Uncle  Peabody. 

"  May  I  have  a  word  with  you?"  Armstrong  asked, 
leading  the  way  to  the  library. 

Uncle  Peabody  acquiesced. 

"  Helen  is  still  asleep,"  said  Armstrong  by  way  of 
[182] 


THE     SPELL 


preliminaries.  "  The  girl  is  overdoing  somehow,  and  she 
acts  very  tired.  As  I  looked  at  her  just  now  she  seemed 
ten  years  older  than  when  we  left  Boston.  Don't  you 
think  she  is  taking  on  too  many  of  these  social  func 
tions?" 

Uncle  Peabody  glanced  at  Armstrong  to  make  sure 
that  he  was  quite  sincere.  "  I  am  glad  that  you  have 
noticed  it  at  last,"  he  replied,  quietly.  "  I  have  wondered 
that  you  did  not  perceive  the  change." 

"  I  must  speak  to  her  about  it." 

"  But  you  have  not  hit  on  the  cause  of  the  change 
yet,"  continued  Uncle  Peabody,  suggestively. 

"What  else  can  it  be?" 

"  I  wish  I  knew  you  well  enough  to  talk  frankly  with 
you,  Jack." 

Uncle  Peabody  was  bidding  for  an  opening. 

"  I  suppose  that  means  that  I  have  done  something 
which  has  not  met  with  your  approval." 

"  That  answers  my  question,  Jack.  I  don't  know  you 
well  enough,  so  I  will  refrain." 

"  Has  it  to  do  with  Helen  ?"  insisted  Armstrong. 

"  It  has,"  replied  Uncle  Peabody.  "  But  what  I  have 
to  say  is  not  intended  as  a  reproach.  I  simply  feel  that 
if  you  have  not  already  discovered  that  Helen  is  a 
very  unhappy  girl  it  is  time  some  one  called  your 
attention  to  it." 

Armstrong  was  thoughtful.  "  Do  you  mean  that 
Helen  is  really  unhappy,  or  simply  upset  over  some 
specific  thing?" 

"  I  mean  that  she  is  suffering,  day  after  day,  without 
relief." 

"  You  must  be  wrong,"  replied  Armstrong,  decisively. 
"  She  was  a  little  hurt  over  something  I  said  to  her  night 

[1831 


THE     SPELL 


before  last,  and  I  mean  to  straighten  that  out ;  but  if 
there  was  anything  beyond  that,  I  should  surely  have 
known  of  it." 

"  You  are  the  last  one  she  would  speak  to  about  it," 
Uncle  Pcabody  said,  gravely. 

"  Why  are  you  so  mysterious  ?  Perhaps  you  are  re 
ferring  to  my  work  at  the  library.  Has  Helen  been  talk 
ing  to  you  about  that?"  Armstrong  demanded,  sus 
piciously. 

"  Helen  has  said  nothing  to  me,  and  does  not  even 
know  that  I  have  noticed  anything,"  said  Uncle  Peabody, 
emphatically. 

"  Which  shows  you  how  little  there  is  to  3rour  fears," 
retorted  Armstrong,  relieved. 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  prove  anything,  Jack,"  continued 
Uncle  Peabody.  "  The  fact  remains,  whatever  the  cause, 
that  Helen  is  fast  getting  herself  into  a  condition  where 
she  will  be  an  easy  victim  for  this  accursed  Italian  mala 
rial  fever.  I  sound  the  warning  note ;  I  can  do  no  more." 

Armstrong  was  unconvinced.  "  I  never  looked  upon 
you  as  an  alarmist  before,"  he  replied,  glancing  at  his 
watch.  "  I  am  late  for  my  work  this  morning,  but  when 
I  return  I  will  question  Helen  carefully  and  arrive  at  the 
root  of  the  difficulty." 

"  I  hope  you  succeed,"  replied  Uncle  Peabody,  feel 
ingly. 

Helen  came  down-stairs  in  the  afternoon  and  found  the 
villa  deserted.  Instinctively  she  sought  the  garden,  walk 
ing  out  upon  the  terrace,  where  she  leaned  against  one 
of  the  ancient  pillars,  her  gaze  extending  to  the  familiar 
view  of  the  river  and  the  city  beyond.  She  thought  of 
the  dramas  which  had  been  enacted  within  the  walls  of 

[184] 


THE    SPELL 


the  weather-stained  palaces  whose  roofs  identified  their 
location.  These  had  been  more  spectacular,  and  had  won 
their  place  in  history,  but  she  questioned  whether  they 
could  have  been  more  tragical  than  the  one  she  was  now 
passing  through.  Surely  it  was  as  easy,  she  told  her 
self,  to  meet  intrigue  and  opposition,  as  to  be  confronted 
with  the  necessity  of  decreeing  one's  own  sentence  and 
then  carrying  it  into  execution. 

"  Oh,  Jack ! — my  husband !"  her  heart  again  cried  out 
in  its  pain.  "  Why  did  you  come  into  my  life,  since  I 
never  belonged  in  yours,  only  to  give  me  a  taste  of  what 
might  have  been !" 

Her  reveries  were  interrupted  by  Annctta's  announce 
ment  that  the  Contessa  Morelli  was  at  the  door,  in  her 
motor-car.  Glad  of  any  diversion,  Helen  hastened  to 
welcome  her,  and  returned  with  her  to  the  garden. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  find  you  in,"  the  contessa  remarked, 
with  evident  sincerity,  as  they  seated  themselves  in  the 
shade.  "  In  the  first  place,  I  really  wanted  to  see  you, 
and,  in  the  second,  my  dear  Morelli  is  in  his  most  ag 
gravating  mood  to  -  day,  and  we  should  have  come  to 
blows  if  I  had  not  run  away." 

"  How  unfortunate  that  your  husband  suffers  so !" 
Helen  replied,  sympathetically. 

"  It  certainly  is  unfortunate  for  me." 

"  And  for  him,  too,  I  imagine,"  insisted  Helen,  smil 
ing. 

The  contessa  was  unwilling  to  yield  the  point.  "  I 
claim  all  the  sympathy,"  she  said,  with  finality.  "  When 
a  man  has  had  sixty  years  of  fun  in  getting  the  gout,  he 
has  no  right  to  complain." 

"  Sixty  years —  "  began  Helen,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  replied  the  contessa,  complacently. 
[185] 


THE    SPELL 


"  I  belong  to  the  second  crop.  He  was  a  widower  with  a 
title  and  position,  and  I  had  money ;  but  I  must  admit 
that  we  were  both  moderately  disappointed.  However, 
marriage  is  always  a  disappointment,  and  I  consider  my 
self  fortunate  that  things  are  no  worse." 

Helen  felt  the  color  come  to  her  face  as  the  contessa's 
words  recalled  her  own  sorrow,  which  for  the  moment 
she  had  forgotten.  The  freedom  with  which  her  guest 
spoke  of  her  personal  affairs  repelled  her,  yet  there  was  a 
subtle  attraction  which  Helen  could  not  help  feeling. 

"  You  are  very  pessimistic  on  the  subject  of  mar 
riage,"  she  ventured. 

"  Not  at  all,"  the  contessa  insisted,  calmly.  "  Hus 
bands  are  selfish  brutes,  all  of  them;  but  they  are  ab 
solutely  necessary  to  give  one  respectability.  Perhaps 
your  husband  is  an  exception,  but  I  doubt  it.  Where 
is  he  now?" 

"  He  is  at  the  library,"  Helen  faltered,  resenting  the 
contessa's  question,  but  forced  to  an  answer  by  the  sud 
denness  with  which  it  was  put. 

"  At  the  library  ?"  repeated  the  contessa,  interroga 
tively.  "  That  is  where  he  was  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
Londi  reception.  Is  he  there  all  the  time?" 

"  A  good  deal  of  the  time,"  admitted  Helen.  "  He  is 
engaged  upon  an  important  literary  work." 

"  In  which  he  takes  a  great  interest  and  you  none  at 
all.  There  you  have  it — selfishness,  the  chief  attribute 
of  man !" 

"  It  does  look  like  it,"  Helen  answered,  concluding 
that  she  had  better  move  in  the  line  of  the  least  re 
sistance.  "  But  in  this  particular  case  I  am  very  much 
interested  in  my  husband's  work,  even  though  I  am  un 
able  to  enter  into  it." 

[186] 


THE    SPELL 


"  That  is  not  interest,"  corrected  the  contessa — "  it  is 
sacrifice ;  and  that  is  woman's  chief  attribute." 

"  I  see  you  are  determined  to  include  my  husband  in 
your  general  category." 

"  I  must,  because  he  is  a  man.  But  my  reason  for 
doing  this  is  to  convince  you  that  it  is  the  thing  to  be 
expected.  Unless  you  learn  that  lesson  early  in  your 
married  life,  my  dear,  you  will  be  miserably  unhappy. 
I  am  certain  that  the  old  Persian  proverb,  '  Blessed  is 
he  who  expecteth  nothing,  for  he  shall  not  be  disappoint 
ed,'  was  written  by  a  woman — and  a  married  woman  at 
that." 

Helen's  duties  at  the  tea-table  aided  her  to  preserve 
her  composure,  but  the  contessa's  matter-of-fact  expres 
sions  were  not  reassuring  in  the  present  crisis  she  was 
passing  through.  She  felt  herself  in  no  position  to  com 
bat  her  theories,  yet  not  to  do  so  seemed  a  tacit  admission 
of  all  which  she  strove  to  conceal. 

"  I  could  not  live  with  a  man  such  as  you  describe," 
she  said,  quietly. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  could !"  The  contessa  laughed  at 
Helen's  innocence  and  inexperience.  "  That  is  the  way 
we  all  feel  when  we  are  first  married;  but  we  soon  get 
over  it — unless  there  is  another  woman  in  the  case ;  then 
it  is  different." 

"  What  do  we  do  in  that  case?"  asked  Helen,  looking 
up  at  her  guest  with  a  smile.  "  You  may  as  well  pre 
pare  me  for  any  emergency." 

"  In  that  case,"  the  contessa  replied,  seriously,  resting 
her  elbow  upon  the  little  table  and  returning  Helen's 
glance — "  in  that  case  we  try  to  arouse  our  husband's 
jealousy;  but  we  must  do  it  discreetly,  as  they  are  not 
so  long-suffering  as  we." 

[187] 


THE     SPELL 


"  Why  not  leave  one's  husband  ?" 

"  You  dear,  simple  little  bride!"  cried  the  contessa,  in 
dulgently — "  and  let  him  have  a  clear  field  ?  What  an 
original  idea !  But  how  our  conversation  has  run  on !" 
The  contessa  rose  and  held  out  her  hand  graciously.  "  I 
really  must  be  going  now ;  but  I  wish  you  and  Mr.  Arm 
strong  would  take  tea  with  me — say  day  after  to-mor 
row.  I  want  to  see  this  exceptional  husband  of  yours, 
and  if  my  dear  Morelli  is  not  too  impossible  I  will  show 
him  off  to  you." 

"  I  doubt  if  Mr.  Armstrong  will  feel  that  he  can  spare 
the  time  away  from  his  book —  "  began  Helen. 

"  In  that  case,  then,  come  alone.  Perhaps  we  can  have 
all  the  better  visit  by  ourselves.  I  shall  expect  you. 
Good-bye !" 

Before  Helen  could  make  any  further  remonstrance 
the  contessa  had  vanished  through  the  hall-door,  and  a 
moment  later  the  car  could  be  heard  moving  out  of  the 
court-yard.  She  again  leaned  against  her  favorite  pil 
lar,  trying  to  comprehend  this  new  phase  of  life.  Uncle 
Peabody  found  her  standing  there  a  few  moments  later 
when  he  returned  from  the  city.  Helen  pulled  herself 
together  when  she  saw  him  coming,  even  though  she  made 
no  attempt  to  change  her  position.  Mr.  Cartwright 
longed  to  comfort  her,  but  something  in  the  girl's  face 
told  him  that  the  time  had  not  yet  come.  So  he  took 
his  place  beside  her,  and,  passing  his  arm  about  her 
waist,  gently  drew  her  toward  him.  Helen  accepted  the 
caress  with  the  smile  which  she  had  learned  to  use  to 
conceal  the  ruffled  surface  of  her  heart. 

"  The  Contessa  Morelli  has  just  been  here,"  she  ob 
served. 

"  Ah!     Did  you  find  her  entertaining?" 
[188] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Yes ;  I  think  that  just  expresses  it." 

"And— worldly?"   " 

Helen  laughed.  "  She  is  certainly  worldly.  Yet  there 
is  something  beneath  it  all  which  attracts  me." 

"  She  is  a  splendid  example  of  a  woman  who  takes  the 
world  as  she  finds  it,"  Uncle  Pcabody  continued,  serious 
ly.  "  Most  women  consider  their  husbands  as  material 
for  idealizing.  Then  they  rub  their  Aladdin's  lamp,  set 
a  train  of  wishing  in  operation,  and  expect  their  selected 
material  to  live  up  to  the  ideals.  When  the  material 
proves  unworthy,  they  lose  faith  in  everything  instead  of 
letting  their  experience  educate  their  ideals.  The  con- 
tessa  has  risen  above  this." 

"  Yet,  I  judge,  her  husband  has  given  her  plenty  of 
opportunity  to  lose  her  faith,"  Helen  added. 

"  Yes,"  Uncle  Peabody  acquiesced.  He  looked  affec 
tionately  at  her,  and  fastened  behind  her  ear  a  little 
strand  of  hair  which  had  become  loose.  Then  he  con 
tinued,  half- jocosely,  "  The  men  I  know  whom  I  would 
marry  if  I  were  a  woman  are  so  precious  few  that  I 
would  certainly  be  a  bachelor  maid." 

Helen  smiled  at  the  expression  on  Uncle  Peabody's 
face.  "Is  it  not  good  to  be  here  together?"  she  said, 
simply.  "  Your  visit  has  meant  so  much  to  me,  and  now 
I  have  been  considering  a  lot  of  plans  which  you  must 
help  me  to  work  out.  I  have  been  waiting  for  just  the 
right  time,  and  now  I  believe  it  has  come." 

Uncle  Peabody  was  genuinely  surprised  by  Helen's 
manner  as  well  as  by  her  words. 

"  How  much  longer  are  you  going  to  stay  in  Flor 
ence,  Helen?"  he  asked,  pointedly. 

"  I  don't  really  know,"  she  replied,  frankly.  "  Our 
original  plan  was  to  leave  early  in  July ;  but  that  is 

[189] 


THE    SPELL 


only  about  a  month  from  now,  and  I  presume  Jack  will 
require  a  longer  time  to  complete  his  work." 

"  He  has  not  made  any  definite  plans,  then?" 

"  No,  and  I  hope  we  shall  stay  at  least  as  long  as  that. 
The  things  which  I  have  in  mind  may  require  even  more 
time  than  I  suspect." 

"  And  these  things  are — ' 

"  You  inquisitive  old  Uncle  Peabody !"  Helen  took 
his  face  between  her  hands  as  she  kissed  him  affectionate 
ly.  "I  will  tell  you  all  in  good  time,  and  you  shall  be 
the  first  to  know !" 


XVII 


HELEN  debated  with  herself  long  and  seriously  re 
garding  the  contessa's  invitation.  As  she  had  said 
to  Uncle  Peabody,  her  new  acquaintance  both  re 
pelled  and  attracted  her.  Here  was  a  woman  who  had 
undoubtedly  passed  through  far  more  bitter  experiences 
than  she  herself  would  ever  be  called  upon  to  endure,  yet 
was  able  to  rise  supremely  above  them  and  force  from 
the  world  that  which  she  still  considered  to  be  her  just 
due.  Helen  could  not  help  admiring  her  for  this  quality, 
and  she  tried  to  draw  from  her  example  some  lessons 
which  might  be  applicable  to  the  present  situation.  At 
first  she  thought  of  insisting  that  her  husband  accom 
pany  her.  She  felt  certain  that  he  would  not  refuse  her 
if  he  really  understood  that  she  expected  and  wished  it, 
yet  she  knew  without  his  telling  her  how  distasteful  it 
would  be  to  him.  If  they  were  planning  to  live  in  Flor 
ence,  it  would,  of  course,  be  necessary  for  him  to  place 
himself  in  evidence,  as  the  contessa  had  said,  for  the  "  re 
spectability  "  of  it ;  but  as  their  life  in  Italy  was  so  near 
ly  ended — as  their  life  together  was  so  nearly  ended — 
she  felt  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  in  asking 
him  to  make  this  sacrifice.  So  Helen  decided  to  return 
the  contessa's  call  alone. 

Alfonse  was  waiting  for  her  in  the  motor-car  when 
Emory  drove  into  the  court-yard.     Seeing  the  machine, 

[191] 


THE    SPELL 


he  alighted  and  stepped  through  the  open  door  into  the 
hall,  where  he  intercepted  her  a  few  moments  later  when 
she  came  down-stairs. 

"  So  you  are  just  going  out?"  he  said,  by  way  of 
greeting. 

"  Why,  Phil — where  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"  Out  of  that  old  picture  there,"  he  replied,  pointing 
to  the  wall.  "  Don't  I  look  funny  without  my  ruffles  and 
knee-breeches  ?" 

"  Do  be  serious,  Phil,"  Helen  laughed. 

"  I  am  serious.  How  could  I  be  otherwise  when  I  see 
you  just  going  out  when  I  have  come  all  the  way  up 
here  to  have  a  quiet  little  chat?" 

Helen  was  clearly  disturbed.  "  This  is  really  too 
bad,"  she  said,  trying  to  think  of  some  plan  out  of  it. 
"  I  promised  the  Contessa  Morelli  to  take  tea  with  her 
this  afternoon,  or  I  would  stay  home." 

"  The  Contessa  Morelli !"  exclaimed  Emory.  "  That 
simplifies  everything." 

"  I  don't  see  how,"  Helen  remarked,  frankly. 

"  Why,  you  can  take  me  with  you.  What  could  be 
easier  ?" 

"  That  is  true,"  admitted  Helen,  meditatively.  "  Why 
not?" 

"  I  don't  see  any  '  why  not,'  "  Emory  asserted. 

The  contessa  welcomed  Helen  with  open  arms.  "  But 
this  is  not  your  husband !"  she  exclaimed,  turning  to 
Emory  before  Helen  had  an  opportunity  to  explain.  "  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  at  the  Londi  reception, 
did  I  not?" 

"  Mr.  Emory  came  to  call  just  as  I  was  starting  out," 
Helen  hastened  to  say,  "  and  he  begged  so  hard  to  be 
allowed  to  see  you  again  that  I  could  not  refuse  him." 

[192] 


BECAUSE   'BEAUTIFUL   PAINTINGS'    DO   NOT   POSSESS 
HUSBANDS."     REPLIED    THE    C  O  N  T  E  S  S  A  .   S  A  G  E  L  Y 


THE     SPELL 


"  So  you  could  not  pull  your  learned  husband  away 
from  his  books?"  the  contessa  queried,  after  smilingly 
accepting  Emory's  presence. 

"  I  did  not  try,  contessa,"  Helen  answered,  promptly. 
"  He  has  reached  a  crisis  in  his  work,  and  I  was  unwilling 
to  suggest  anything  which  might  divert  his  mind." 

"  What  an  exemplary  wife  you  are !  If  we  all  treated 
our  husbands  with  such  consideration  they  would  become 
even  more  uncontrollable  than  at  present.  Don't  you 
think  so,  Mr.  Emory?" 

"  The  suggestion  is  so  impossible  that  I  can  think  of 
no  reply,"  Emory  answered.  "  Mrs.  Armstrong  is  such 
an  unusual  wife  as  to  warrant  considering  her  as  an 
isolated  exception." 

Emory  spoke  with  such  sincerity  that  the  contessa 
looked  at  him  with  renewed  interest. 

"  I  knew  that  to  be  the  case,"  she  said  at  length,  "  but 
I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  it.  One  so  seldom  hears  a 
married  woman  championed  so  freely  by  a  friend  of  the 
opposite  sex." 

"  Mrs.  Armstrong  needs  no  champion,"  Emory  has 
tened  to  add,  feeling  somewhat  uncomfortable,  for  Helen's 
sake,  over  the  turn  the  conversation  had  taken.  "  But 
why  should  I  not  be  permitted  to  express  my  admiration 
for  you  or  for  her  just  as  I  would  for  a  beautiful  paint 
ing  or  any  other  creation  of  a  lesser  artist?" 

"  Because  '  beautiful  paintings '  do  not  have  hus 
bands,"  replied  the  contessa,  sagely,  smiling  at  Emory's 
compliment. 

"  Since  we  are  speaking  of  husbands,"  Helen  inter 
rupted,  thinking  it  time  to  make  her  hostess  exchange 
places  with  her,  "  you  promised  me  that  I  should  meet 
yours  this  afternoon." 

13  [193] 


THE     SPELL 


"  Oh  no,  my  dear,"  the  contessa  corrected.  "  I  said 
*  unless  he  was  impossible,'  and  that  is  just  what  he  is 
to-day.  Be  thankful  that  your  husband's  infirmity  takes 
the  form  it  does  rather  than  the  gout." 

"  Tell  me  something  about  your  villa,"  suggested 
Helen,  glancing  around  her.  "  All  these  places  have 
romantic  histories,  and  I  am  sure  that  this  is  no  excep 
tion." 

"  All  one  has  to  do  in  order  to  forget  the  romance 
with  which  old  Italian  houses  are  invested  is  to  live  in 
one,"  the  contessa  replied.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they 
contain  more  rheumatism  than  romance.  This  one  is  fair 
ly  livable  now,  but  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  it  when 
Morelli  first  brought  me  here  as  a  bride !  Words  can't 
express  it.  An  old-fashioned  house-cleaning  and  some 
good  American  dollars  make  the  best  antidote  I  know. 
The  first  point  of  interest  I  was  shown  here  was  the  room 
in  which  the  previous  Contessa  Morclli  died.  My  am 
bitions  were  along  different  lines,  so  I  added  some  mod 
ern  improvements,  much  to  the  consternation  of  my  hus 
band  and  the  servants.  And  the  present  Contessa 
Morelli,  you  may  have  observed,  is  still  very  much  alive." 

By  the  time  the  call  came  to  an  end  Helen  and  Emory 
had  learned  much  regarding  Italian  life  from  an  Amer 
ican  woman's  standpoint,  but  in  the  mean  time  the  con- 
tcssa's  active  brain  had  not  been  idle.  The  situation  in 
which  she  found  her  new  friends  puzzled  her  somewhat 
and  interested  her  more.  She  had  discovered  the  indif 
ferent  husband  and  the  passive  wife — two  necessary  ele 
ments  in  every  domestic  drama.  Emory  answered  well 
enough  for  the  admiring  friend  of  the  wife,  so  all  that 
was  necessary  was  to  find  the  second  woman  and  the 
dramatis  persona?  would  be  complete.  This  would  ex- 

[194] 


THE     SPELL 


plain  the  husband's  indifference  and  the  wife's  passivity. 
It  was  an  interesting  problem,  and  the  contessa  saw 
definite  possibilities  in  it. 

As  Emory  and  Helen  took  their  leave  Phil  suggested 
that  they  run  down  to  the  library  in  the  motor-car  to 
pick  up  Armstrong  and  Miss  Thayer. 

"  Miss  Thayer?"  queried  the  contessa. 

"  My  friend,  whom  you  must  meet,"  Helen  explained. 
"  She  has  been  with  us  almost  since  our  arrival,  and  is 
assisting  Mr.  Armstrong  in  his  literary  work." 

"  Ah !"  exclaimed  the  contessa,  beaming  as  the  com 
pleteness  of  her  intuition  came  to  her.  "  How  very  in 
teresting  !  I  shall  look  forward  to  meeting  these  two 
other  members  of  your  family." 

The  machine  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill  and  slowed 
down  to  pass  through  the  city  streets  before  either 
Emory  or  Helen  broke  the  silence,  yet  it  was  evident 
that  their  minds  found  full  employment.  The  call  upon 
the  contessa  left  them  both  with  an  intangibly  unpleas 
ant  sensation. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  went  with  you,  Helen,"  Emory  re 
marked,  after  the  long  pause. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  did,"  admitted  Helen,  frankly,  his 
words  fitting  in  exactly  with  her  own  thoughts. 

"  It  is  too  bad  that  one  can't  do  or  say  the  natural 
thing  without  having  it  misunderstood.  The  contessa 
is  determined  to  find  something  upon  which  she  may 
seize  as  material  for  gossip." 

"  That  is  usually  not  difficult  when  one  tries  hard 
enough,"  Helen  agreed :  "  especially  when  one  is  living 
in  such  an  atmosphere  as  she  is." 

"  Jack  will  have  to  sacrifice  himself  temporarily  or  he 
will  leave  you  in  an  uncomfortable  position." 

[195] 


THE     SPELL 


Emory  spoke  guardedly  and  watched  the  effect  of  his 
words. 

"  He  would  have  come  this  afternoon  if  I  had  asked 
him,"  Helen  asserted,  confidently,  "  but  his  book  is  near 
ly  finished  and  he  is  not  in  a  mood  to  be  interrupted.  I 
don't  want  anything  to  interfere  with  its  completion." 

"  It  will  be  a  relief,  though,  to  have  it  finished,  won't 
it?" 

Helen  looked  up  quickly  at  Emends  question  and  as 
quickly  dropped  her  eyes  as  they  met  his.  "  Why — 
yes,"  she  admitted,  slowly.  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  him 
take  a  little  rest.  I  am  sure  he  has  been  overdoing." 

The  girl  felt  Emory's  questioning  glance  upon  her, 
and  it  added  to  her  discomfiture. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  time  to  let  me  help  you, 
Helen?"  he  asked,  pointedly.  "You  know  perfectly 
well  that  I  feel  toward  you  just  as  I  always  have.  No  " 
— he  stopped  the  restraining  words  upon  her  lips — "  I 
am  going  to  say  nothing  which  I  ought  not  to  say,  noth 
ing  which  you  ought  not  to  hear.  But  I  want  you  to  be 
happy,  Helen,  and  sometimes  a  man  can  help.  Don't  be 
afraid  to  ask  me ;  don't  let  your  pride  stand  between  us. 
You  know  that  I  shall  take  no  advantage  of  anything 
you  tell  me." 

Helen's  lips  quivered  slightly  as  she  listened,  but  her 
voice  was  natural  though  restrained.  "  Something  is 
misleading  you,  Phil,"  she  answered,  calmly-  "  Nothing 
has  happened  to  make  it  necessary  for  me  to  ask  help 
from  any  one.  If  there  had  I  should  be  glad  to  have  so 
good  a  friend  to  fall  back  upon." 

"  You  are  deceiving  no  one  but  yourself,  Helen." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

She  turned  quickly  toward  him. 
[196] 


THE     SPELL 


"  Every  one  knows  how  much  you  are  suffering  in 
spite  of  your  brave  attempt  to  keep  it  to  yourself.  Why 
won't  you  let  me  help  you,  Helen?" 

"  Who  is  '  every  one '?"  she  demanded. 

"  Why  —  your  uncle  Peabody  and  I  and  —  the  con- 
tessa,"  stammered  Emory. 

"  You  and  Uncle  Peabody  think  I  am  suffering  ?" 

"  We  know  it !" 

Helen  held  her  head  very  high  in  the  air,  and  spoke 
in  a  superior  tone  so  obviously  assumed  as  a  cloak  to 
disguise  her  real  feelings,  that  Emory  regretted  that  he 
had  forced  the  subject  upon  her;  but  now  it  had  gone 
too  far  to  draw  back. 

"  If  you  know  that,  perhaps  you  know  the  cause  of  it 
as  well?" 

"We  do.    Jack—" 

"  Stop !"  Helen  commanded.  The  motor-car  turned 
into  the  Piazza  San  Lorenzo.  "  If  you  have  anything 
to  say  about  my  husband,"  she  continued,  "  you  had 
better  say  it  direct  to  him." 

"  May  I?"  cried  Emory,  leaning  forward  eagerly. 
He  looked  at  Helen  steadily  for  a  moment,  like  a  runner 
waiting  for  the  pistol-shot  to  release  him  from  his  strain 
ed  position  at  "  set."  The  girl  returned  his  look  with 
equal  steadiness  for  only  an  instant  before  she  read  what 
was  in  his  mind.  Armstrong  and  Inez  were  just  coming 
out  through  the  cloister  gates. 

"May  I?"  Emory  repeated. 

"  No !"  Helen  replied,  quickly,  sinking  back  against 
the  cushions. 


XVIII 


A  RMSTRONG  was  most  enthusiastic  when  he  re- 
/-\  turned  late  the  next  afternoon,  and  Miss  Thayer's 
face  reflected  his  own  great  satisfaction.  The 
book  was  beginning  to  round  into  completeness,  Cerini 
had  placed  upon  it  the  stamp  of  his  unqualified  approval, 
and  the  author  himself  had  reason  to  feel  well  pleased 
with  the  results  of  his  tireless  application.  Helen  watch 
ed  the  two  as  they  came  out  into  the  garden  where  she 
and  Uncle  Peabody  had  been  visiting.  Yes,  they  were 
meant  for  each  other.  Helen  could  see  this  more  plain 
ly  now  even  than  before.  Her  husband  had  lost  in 
weight  and  in  color  since  he  began  his  work  at  the  li 
brary,  but  the  slighter  frame  and  paler  face  seemed  more 
in  keeping  with  the  man  whom  she  now  knew.  Inez 
had  also  changed.  The  individuality  which  Helen  had 
always  considered  a  striking  characteristic  of  her  friend 
while  at  school  and  later  was  now  completely  merged 
into  that  of  the  man  beside  her.  They  thought  alike, 
talked  alike,  acted  alike.  That  was  what  Jack  preferred 
and  what  he  needed,  Helen  admitted,  and  she  felt  a  cer 
tain  satisfaction  that  she  was  at  least  strong  enough  to 
see  and  to  admit  it. 

"  You  seem  to  be  very  happy  to-night,  Jack."  Helen 
tried  hard  to  be  natural.  "  What  pleasant  thing  has 
happened  to  vou  to-day?" 

[198] 


THE    SPELL 


Armstrong  drew  up  a  chair  for  Inez  and  seated  him 
self  beside  Helen.  "  Nothing  in  particular,"  he  replied, 
"  except  that  I  begin  to  see  the  end  of  my  book  in  sight." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  Helen  answered,  simply. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  you  are."  Armstrong  spoke  pointed 
ly,  looking  at  Helen  with  a  curious  expression  on  his 
face.  "  Yes,  I  suppose  you  are." 

Helen  flushed.  "  I  don't  mean  it  as  you  have  taken 
it,  Jack,"  she  replied,  quietly.  "  It  has  been  a  hard 
strain  on  you,  and  I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  can  soon 
get  a  change.  I  think  you  need  it." 

Armstrong  still  looked  at  Helen  intently.  "  It  has 
been  a  strain,"  he  admitted,  at  length — "  a  strain  on  all 
of  us."  Then  his  face  lighted  up  as  of  old.  "  Cerini 
says  the  book  is  a  masterpiece,  Helen — do  you  under 
stand,  a  masterpiece.  He  says  it  is  better  than  he  be 
lieved  it  possible  for  me  to  do ;  in  fact,  the  best  work  on 
the  period  which  has  ever  been  written.  Can  you  wonder 
that  I  am  happy?"  He  turned  from  Helen  to  Inez. 
"  And  I  could  never  have  accomplished  it  except  for  the 
help  of  our  friend  here,  who  has  so  unselfishly  changed 
her  plans  at  my  request.  You  must  thank  her  for  me — 
for  both  of  us." 

"  Does  it  mean  that  your  visit  to  Florence  is  about  at 
an  end,  Jack?"  asked  Uncle  Peabody. 

"  Oh,  there  is  much  to  be  done  yet,"  replied  Arm 
strong.  "  The  first  draft  is  nearly  finished,  and  the 
material  has  all  been  sifted  through ;  but  I  must  go  over 
the  manuscript  once  more  at  least,  here  in  this  atmos 
phere,  before  returning  to  Boston." 

"  Even  the  Old  South  Church  and  Bunker  Hill  Mon 
ument  will  seem  very  modern  when  you  get  back  home, 
won't  they?" 

[199] 


THE     SPELL 


"  Everything  will  seem  modern,"  Armstrong  assented. 
"  I  hate  to  think  of  leaving  Florence,  but  there  is  one 
thought  which  makes  it  easier.  Miss  Thayer  will,  of 
course,  visit  us  in  Boston  next  winter,  and  she  and  I 
will  then  have  a  chance  to  do  some  other  work  like  this 
together." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Armstrong !"  cried  Inez,  aghast.  "  I 
should  not  think  of  that  for  a  moment.  Believe  me, 
Helen,  this  is  the  first  I  have  heard  of  it.  It  could  not 
be,  of  course." 

"Why  could  it  not  be?"  insisted  Armstrong,  stoutly. 

"You  will  understand  when  you  take  time  to  think 
it  over,"  said  Inez,  picking  up  her  gloves  and  starting 
for  the  hall.  "  He  docs  not  mean  it,  Helen — truly  he 
does  not !" 

"  I  do  mean  it,"  urged  Armstrong,  as  Inez  disap 
peared.  "  I  mean  every  word  of  it.  She  is  your  most 
intimate  friend,  and  what  could  be  more  natural  than 
for  her  to  visit  us?  Why  could  it  not  be?" 

Uncle  Peabody  answered : 

"  There  are  some  things  in  Boston  which  are  as  old  as 
anything  you  will  find  in  Florence,  Jack." 

Armstrong  failed  to  catch  the  drift  of  Mr.  Cart- 
wright's  remarks. 

"  You  are  trying  to  avoid  answering  my  question," 
he  replied.  "  To  what  do  you  refer  that  bears  at  all 
upon  the  present  discussion?" 

"  Conventions,"  said  Uncle  Peabody,  calmly. 

"  Conventions !"  Armstrong  repeated  the  word  with 
emphasis.  "  You  don't  imagine  that  I  am  going  to  let 
local  conventions  tell  me  what  to  do  when  I  get  home?" 

"  I  don't  imagine  anything,"  replied  Uncle  Peabody. 
"  I  was  merely  stating  a  fact." 

[200] 


THE     SPELL 


Helen  saw  the  hot  retort  upon  her  husband's  lips. 
"  I  would  not  discuss  this  any  more  until  after  din 
ner,"  she  said,  quietly,  as  she  rose.  "  As  Jack  says, 
it  is  a  perfectly  natural  thing  for  Inez  to  visit 
me.  It  is  possible  that  it  can  be  arranged  in  some 
way." 

"  Good !"  cried  Armstrong.  "  I  am  glad  that  there  is 
one  sensible  person  in  the  party !" 

He  tried  to  slip  his  arm  around  Helen's  waist,  but  she 
gently  avoided  him. 

"  Come,"  she  urged,  "  we  shall  be  late  if  we  don't  get 
ready  now.  We  have  too  little  time  as  it  is." 

After  dinner  Uncle  Peabody  and  Inez  announced  their 
intention  of  devoting  the  evening  to  letter-writing,  so 
Helen  and  Jack  found  themselves  alone  together  in  the 
garden.  Helen  wrapped  her  shawl  closely  about  her, 
wondering  at  the  chill  which  came  over  her  when  she 
realized  that  she  was  alone  with  her  husband  and  that 
the  opportunity  for  which  she  had  waited  was  at  hand. 
She  was  silent,  trying  to  decide  how  best  to  open  the 
conversation.  Her  mind  was  made  up  at  last.  If  others 
had  begun  to  notice  the  estrangement,  it  was  time  that 
Jack  knew  of  it,  and  from  her.  All  doubt,  all  uncer 
tainty  had  vanished. 

She  looked  long  at  her  husband  in  the  dim  starlight. 
He  was  so  near  her,  yet  how  far  away  he  really  was ! 
Even  he  did  not  realize  how  far.  She  could  see  the  lines 
of  his  face  lighted  by  his  cigar  as  he  silently  smoked  it, 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  lights  of  the  city  beyond.  How 
strong  it  was,  Helen  thought,  how  strong  he  was  com 
pared  with  her  own  weak  self !  She  wondered  what  his 
thoughts  were  centred  upon— whether  on  his  masterpiece 

[201] 


THE    SPELL 


or  upon  Inez !  Upon  Inez !  That  brought  her  back  to 
the  task  before  her. 

It  was  a  difficult  task ;  she  realized  that.  There  could 
be  no  immediate  separation,  for  that  would  mean  an  in 
terruption  to  the  work.  She  must  stay  in  Florence  until 
the  manuscript  was  completed  or  Inez  could  not  remain. 
No,  there  must  not  be  any  break  between  Jack  and  her 
self  for  the  present,  or  his  mind  would  be  taken  from 
his  book  and  another  failure  added  to  the  great  one  in 
which  she  felt  herself  to  be  the  most  concerned.  Yet  she 
must  make  him  understand  that  she  was  not  dull  to  the 
signs  which  she  and  the  others  could  but  read.  To  con 
tinue  to  act  as  if  ignorant  of  them  would  be  the  worst  of 
all.  She  must  remain  his  wife  until  his  supreme  effort 
was  accomplished,  then  the  living  lie  could  be  ended  and 
the  new  and  separate  life  begun. 

Armstrong  interrupted  her  reverie  before  it  had  quite 
come  to  an  end. 

"  You  are  not  looking  like  yourself  lately,  Helen,"  he 
said,  abruptly.  "  I  meant  to  have  spoken  of  it  before." 

Helen  started  at  the  suddenness  of  his  remark.  "  Not 
looking  like  myself?"  she  repeated,  mechanically.  "  How 
do  you  mean?" 

"  You  look  tired  and  worn  out." 

"  I  am  getting  older,  Jack,"  Helen  smiled,  sadly. 
"  Perhaps  that  is  what  you  have  noticed." 

"  Nonsense,"  replied  Armstrong.  "  You  used  to  be  so 
bright  and  vivacious,  and  now  you  sit  around  and  hardly 
say  a  word." 

She  could  not  answer  for  a  moment.  "  T  did  not  realize 
that  I  had  become  such  poor  company,  Jack.  You  have 
not  seemed  interested  lately  in  the  things  I  would  nat 
urally  talk  about,  and  of  course  a  great  deal  of  your 

[202] 


THE     SPELL 


conversation  is  upon  subjects  with  which  I  am  unfa 
miliar." 

"  You  are  quite  sure  that  you  are  not  getting  too  tired 
going  to  all  these  social  functions?"" 

"  Quite  sure.  If  you  stop  to  think  a  moment,  these 
are  really  the  only  entertainment  I  get.  Would  you  pre 
fer  that  I  stayed  here  at  the  villa  alone?" 

"  Why?  no ;  unless  you  are  doing  too  much  of  that 
sort  of  thing.  Are  you  feeling  perfectly  well?" 

Helen  hardly  knew  what  to  reply.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  at 
length,  "  I  am  feeling  perfectly  well." 

Armstrong  showed  his  relief.  "  I  told  Uncle  Peabody 
he  was  an  alarmist,"  he  said. 

"What  did  Uncle  Peabody  say?"  queried  Helen, 
straightening  up,  Emory's  remarks  coming  back  to  her. 
"  I  did  not  know  that  you  and  he  had  been  discussing 
me." 

"  He  said  that  you  were  unhappy,  and  fast  becoming 
a  fit  subject  for  Italian  malaria.  He  had  better  stick  to 
his  specialty,  and  not  try  to  become  a  general  prac 
titioner." 

"  Oh,"  said  Helen,  relieved  that  she  had  not  been  an 
ticipated,  and  resuming  her  former  position. 

"  Of  course  he  was  as  mistaken  about  your  being  un 
happy  as  he  was  about  your  being  ill,"  Armstrong  con 
tinued,  his  remark  being  half  assertion  and  half  question. 

Helen  made  no  response.  He  waited  a  moment  or  two, 
glancing  at  her  furtively,  and  then  put  his  question  more 
directly. 

"  You  are  not  unhappy,  are  you  ?" 

Helen  tried  to  fathom  the  motive  which  underlay  this 
question.  At  last  Jack  had  become  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  he  had  hurt  her  and  was  endeavoring  to  make 

[203] 


THE     SPELL 


amends.  This  was  like  him ;  what  he  had  said  and  done 
during  the  weeks  past  was  not  like  him.  Now  something 
which  Uncle  Pcabody  had  said  had  brought  him  to  him 
self  again.  He  saw  a  duty  to  perform,  and  he  assumed 
it  conscientiously ;  but  it  was  an  act  of  duty  rather  than 
an  act  of  love — she  felt  that  in  every  word  he  spoke. 

"  Yes,  Jack,"  she  finally  admitted,  "  I  am  very  un 
happy." 

Armstrong  was  annoyed.  "  I  really  thought  you  were 
stronger,  Helen,"  he  said,  petulantly.  "  It  is  all  over 
this  library  work,  I  suppose." 

"  I  am  not  strong,"  replied  Helen,  quietly.  "  That  is 
where  the  whole  trouble  lies.  I  am  wofully  weak,  and 
I  only  wish  that  you  and  I  had  discovered  it  sooner." 

"  How  would  that  have  helped  matters  any  ?" 

"  If  we  had  discovered  it  before  we  were  married  it 
would  have  helped  matters  a  great  deal,"  said  Helen, 
with  decision.  "  As  we  did  not  do  that  we  must  accept 
things  as  they  are  until  we  can  find  a  solution  of  the 
problem." 

"  I  have  offered  time  and  again  to  give  up  my  work ; 
now  it  has  reached  a  point  where  I  simply  must  finish 
it." 

"  Of  course  you  must ;  I  should  be  the  first  to  oppose 
you  were  you  to  suggest  anything  different." 

"  Then  why  are  you  unhappy  ?  I  don't  understand 
you  at  all." 

"  I  know  you  don't,  and  you  understand  yourself  just 
as  little.  The  work  you  are  doing  is  simply  an  incident; 
the  results  of  that  work  in  making  you  an  entirely  dif 
ferent  man  is  the  main  point.  Do  you  not  feel  that  your 
self?" 

"  So  that  is  it,"  replied  Armstrong.  "  The  work  has 
[204] 


made  a  different   man   of  me,  and   you   object  to   the 
change." 

"  No,  it  is  not  the  change  which  has  made  me  un 
happy.  During  these  weeks  you  have  become  infinitely 
bigger  and  stronger  and  grander,  and  I  admire  you  just 
that  much  the  more." 

"  Then  why  are  you  unhappy  ?" 

"Because" — Helen  choked  down  a  little  sob — "be 
cause,  as  you  say,  I  am  so  weak.  Because  it  has  left  me 
just  that  much  behind,  and  has  shown  me  how  little  suited 
I  am  to  be  your  wife." 

"  How  you  do  magnify  things !"  exclaimed  Armstrong. 
"  It  is  not  an  uncommon  thing  for  a  husband  to  have 
interests  apart  from  his  wife ;  it  is  no  reflection  on  the 
wife." 

"  But  how  much  better — how  much  more  helpful — if 
the  husband  and  the  wife  can  share  the  same  interests?" 

"Granted.     But  why  suggest  a  modern  miracle?" 

"  It  has  shown  me  another  thing,"  Helen  continued, 
fearful  lest  she  should  be  diverted  from  her  main  theme. 
"  Inez  is  already  much  more  to  you  than  I." 

Armstrong  sprang  to  his  feet,  with  difficulty  holding 
back  the  angry  words  upon  his  lips.  "  This  is  going  too 
far,  Helen,"  he  said,  with  forced  calm.  "  Do  you  realize 
that  you  are  actually  making  an  accusation?" 

Helen  regarded  him  calmly  but  sadly.  "  I  am  mak 
ing  no  accusation,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  I  believe  in  your 
loyalty  to  me  and  in  your  sense  of  what  is  right,  but  the 
fact  remains.  Inez  loves  37ou,  and  has  loved  you  almost 
since  the  day  she  arrived.  Is  it  possible  that  you  are 
insensible  to  this?" 

"  You  must  stop  !"  expostulated  Armstrong.  "  You 
cannot  realize  what  you  are  saving !" 

[205f 


THE     SPELL 


"  Do  you  remember  what  she  told  Ferdy  De  Peyster 
— '  I  love  him  better  than  my  life  '  ?  Do  you  remember 
the  scene  at  the  table  when  Phil  Emory  spoke  of  it  and 
her  reply  ?  Have  you  been  with  her  day  after  day  with 
out  discovering  that  she  worships  the  very  ground  you 
walk  on?" 

"  It  would  be  useless  to  try  to  answer  you,  Helen," 
Armstrong  replied,  forcefully.  "  The  most  generous 
view  I  can  take  of  what  you  say  is  to  attribute  it  to  a 
jealousy  as  unfounded  as  it  is  unworthy  of  you." 

"  Ah,  Jack,  if  you  only  knew !"  Helen  looked  at  him 
reproachfully.  "  There  is  no  jealousy  in  my  heart  even 
now,  my  husband,  nothing  but  the  greatest  admiration 
and  the  deepest  love.  Sometime  you  will  understand. 
You  have  a  great  career  before  you — greater,  perhaps, 
than  I  can  realize,  because  I  know  of  your  work  only 
through  others.  This  career  is  one  which  I  must  not 
injure,  which  I  shall  not  limit.  Inez  can  help  you 
in  attaining  it,  and  it  is  right  that  she  should  do 
so." 

Armstrong's  curiosity  gained  the  better  of  his  resent 
ment.  "  What  do  you  propose  to  do  to  bring  all  this 
about?"  he  asked,  incredulously. 

"  Whatever  may  be  necessary,"  Helen  replied,  looking 
at  him  firmly,  "  even  though  it  breaks  my  heart." 

"  Surely  you  have  not  suggested  any  of  this  nonsense 
to  Miss  Thayer?"  Armstrong  asked,  suddenly. 

"  I  have  not  talked  with  her  about  it,"  replied  Helen, 
quietly. 

"  That  is  to  be  placed  to  your  credit,  at  all  events. 
Miss  Tha}rer  has  no  more  sentiment  toward  me  of  the 
kind  you  suggest  than  if  she  had  never  met  me.  She  is 
the  best  kind  of  a  friend  and  a  most  valuable  assistant, 

[206] 


THE     SPELL 


but  that  is  all.  My  feelings  toward  her  arc  exactly  the 
same — no  more,  no  less.  I  beg  of  you  not  to  let  any 
thing  so  absurdly  improbable  stand  between  us  now  or 
later.  Come,  we  had  better  go  in." 

"  Don't  wait  for  me,"  Helen  answered,  wearily.  "  I 
will  stay  here  a  while  longer.  The  cool  air  feels  very 
grateful  to-night." 

Armstrong  left  her  there,  alone  with  the  stars  and  her 
thoughts.  The  break  was  made.  They  had  stood  at  the 
parting  of  the  ways,  and  Helen  had  pointed  out  to  him 
the  path  which  she  knew  she  could  not  travel  with  him. 
He,  with  all  his  strength  of  mind,  had  left  her  without 
realizing  what  had  happened.  Helen  had  not  expected 
him  to  understand  her  motive — that  must  come  later — 
but  she  had  thought  that  he  would  at  least  appreciate 
what  she  had  said.  Perhaps  it  was  better  so.  She  had 
known  that  he  would  disclaim  the  affection  which  she 
felt  he  could  but  entertain  toward  Inez ;  she  was  certain 
that  he  himself  did  not  yet  appreciate  how  firmly  in 
stalled  his  "  sister  worker  "  had  become  in  his  heart.  But 
Helen  was  no  less  convinced  that  she  was  right.  Jack 
would  realize  it  soon  enough,  and  then  he  would  know 
what  she  had  really  done  to  make  it  easier  for  him.  Per 
haps  this  was  better,  too. 

The  storm  was  over,  and  Helen  remained  as  the 
weather-beaten  evidence  that  it  had  taken  place.  Ex 
hausted  both  in  mind  and  body,  she  lay  back  in  her 
chair,  with  her  eyes  wide  open,  her  thoughts  rushing 
madly  to  and  fro  seeking  a  new  anchorage.  She  must 
keep  her  strength  for  the  ordeal  yet  before  her.  She 
must  play  her  part  through  to  the  end  without  wavering, 
or  what  she  had  already  endured  would  be  of  no  avail. 
So  at  last  she  bade  good-night  to  the  stars  which  had 

[207] 


THE     SPELL 


been  her  silent  companions  and  entered  the  house.  Me 
chanically  she  fastened  the  veranda  shutters  and  went 
up-stairs  to  her  room,  closing  the  door  to  the  world  out 
side,  with  which  she  felt  she  must  become  acquainted 
anew  as  she  pursued  her  chosen  path — alone. 


THE  contessa  found  herself  eager  to  continue  her 
inquiries  along  the  new  lines  which  had  so  clearly 
indicated  themselves  during  the  conversation  with 
Mrs.  Armstrong  and  Emory.  This  desire  was  by  no 
means  malicious,  for  those  very  attributes  which  attract 
ed  Helen  to  her  would  have  contradicted  anything  so 
really  reprehensible,  even  as  a  counter-irritant.  In  the 
contessa's  life,  filled  as  it  was  with  ennui  in  spite  of  her 
heroic  efforts  to  enliven  it  with  excitement,  gossip  and 
a  bit  of  scandal  acted  as  agreeable  and  much  -  needed 
stimulants.  She  may  never  have  put  this  thought  into 
words  any  more  than  the  man  does  who  depends  upon 
his  modest  tipple  to  give  zest  to  his  daily  routine ;  yet, 
like  him,  she  found  her  dependence  upon  her  stimu 
lant  growing  slowly  }ret  steadily  as  the  days  advanced 
and  the  "  dear  Morelli  "  became  more  and  more  "  im 
possible."  In  the  present  instance  the  interval  since 
the  last  spicy  episode  had  been  longe**  than  usual,  and 
the  contessa  felt  a  thrill  of  enthusiastic  delight  replace 
the  dull  apathy  which  she  had  lately  experienced,  even 
at  the  suggestion  of  the  conditions  as  she  thought  she 
saw  them.  It  was  a  problem  which  offered  her  the  joy 
of  solution  rather  than  merely  a  curiosity  to  learn  more 
of  the  various  factors  which  entered  into  it. 

She  liked  Helen  from  the  first  moment  of  their  meet- 
14  [209] 


THE     SPELL 


ing.  America  often  seemed  far  away  to  the  contessa, 
and  her  new  acquaintance  brought  it  nearer  to  her ;  but 
beyond  this  Helen  proved  in  herself  to  be  more  than  or 
dinarily  interesting.  The  contessa  had  known  women  as 
beautiful  as  Mrs.  Armstrong,  she  had  known  women  who 
carried  themselves  with  equal  self-confidence  and  inde 
pendence;  but  never  had  she  seen  these  combined  with 
such  lofty  ideals  actually  maintained.  Her  early  im 
pression  that  Helen's  idealism  was  the  result  of  innocence 
was  soon  corrected.  In  the  school  of  experience  there 
are  taught  two  branches  in  which  every  clever  woman  of 
the  world  must  perfect  herself — character-reading  and 
the  gentle  art  of  self-defence :  both  are  absolutely  es 
sential  to  her  success.  Men  underestimate  their  impor 
tance,  and  thus  develop  them  to  a  lesser  degree ;  as  a  re 
sult,  the  woman's  intuitive  reading  of  character  is  as 
much  more  delicate  and  subtle  as  is  her  practise  of  self- 
defence,  and  to  a  similar  extent  more  effective.  Amelie 
was  a  medal  pupil  in  both  these  branches,  and  her  in 
stinctive  exercise  of  the  first  told  her  that  she  had  dis 
covered  an  unusual  personality  among  conditions  which 
under  ordinary  circumstances  would  work  out  along  but 
one  line.  This  solution  was  not  in  keeping  with  what 
she  had  read  in  Helen's  character,  and  she  wondered 
how  the  conditions  themselves  had  come  to  exist.  The 
contessa  hummed  cheerily  to  herself  as  she  moved  about 
the  villa  the  next  morning,  and  the  servants  took  it  for 
granted  that  their  master's  malady  had  taken  a  more 
decided  turn  for  the  worse. 

In  the  afternoon  the  contessa's  motor-car  drew  up  be 
fore  the  entrance  to  the  Laurentian  Library.  The  cus 
todian  at  the  gate  took  her  card,  and  presently  returned 
announcing  that  the  librarian  was  in  his  study.  The 

[210] 


THE    SPELL 


name  of  Morclli  was  well  known  to  Cerini,  who  had  as 
sisted  the  count  upon  several  occasions  before  his  mar 
riage  in  disposing  of  some  of  the  rare  volumes  which  had 
once  been  a  part  of  his  grandfather's  splendid  collection. 
The  librarian  had  even  casually  met  the  new  contessa 
once  or  twice,  but  this  was  the  first  time  she  had  honored 
him  with  a  call,  and  he  wondered  what  her  errand  might 
be.  Possibly  it  was  her  desire  to  dispose  of  other  vol 
umes  ;  perhaps  it  was  to  protest  against  further  despolia 
tion  ;  at  all  events  he  would  be  guarded  in  his  conversa 
tion  until  her  object  was  disclosed. 

"  Welcome  to  the  halls  of  the  Medici !"  exclaimed 
Cerini,  cordially,  rising  to  greet  his  visitor  as  she  ap 
peared  in  the  doorway. 

The  contessa  smiled  so  radiantly  in  acknowledging  his 
salutation  that  the  librarian  was  convinced  that  his  first 
hypothesis  must  be  correct.  "  You  are  surprised  to  see 
me,"  she  remarked,  seating  herself  with  deliberation  and 
looking  across  at  her  host  with  a  friendly  air.  "  You 
may  as  well  admit  it,  for  I  can  read  it  in  your  face." 

"  Both  surprised  and  pleased,  contessa,"  Cerini  an 
swered,  maintaining  his  guarded  attitude. 

"  Your  surprise  should  be  that  I  have  not  been  here 
before,"  Amelie  continued. 

"  Ah !"  The  old  man  held  up  his  hand  with  a  depre 
catory  gesture.  "  You  society  women  have  so  much  to 
divert  you  otherwise  that  I  could  scarcely  expect,  even 
with  the  wonderful  books  I  have  here,  to  prove  a  magnet 
sufficiently  strong  to  draw  you  away  from  your  custom 
ary  pursuits.  And  your  husband  has  so  many  splendid 
volumes  in  your  own  library  that  these  here  can  hardly 
prove  a  novelty." 

"  It  is  about  these  volumes  that  I  came  to  see  you." 

[211] 


THE     SPELL 


Cerini  smiled  sagely,  feeling  pleased  at  his  intuition. 

"  Yes,  we  have  some  splendid  old  volumes,  as  you  say," 
the  contessa  continued.  "  I  have  looked  them  all  over 
and  have  tried  to  study  them,  but  beyond  my  admiration 
for  their  beauty  I  must  admit  that  I  can't  make  much 
out  of  them." 

"  Then  you  are  really  interested  in  the  books  them 
selves  !"  exclaimed  the  librarian,  his  pleasure  increasing 
with  the  prospect  of  securing  a  new  convert.  "  This  is 
delightful !" 

"  Of  course."  The  contessa  raised  her  eyebrows  with 
well-feigned  surprise.  She  was  entirely  satisfied  with  her 
progress  thus  far.  "  But  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  that 
my  interest  is  not  a  very  intelligent  one.  I  tried  to  get 
Morelli  to  tell  me  something  about  them  once,  but  he 
doesn't  know  a  book  of  hours  from  a  missal,  so  I  promised 
myself  the  pleasure  of  learning  from  you,  if  you  were 
willing  to  teach  me.  Are  you?" 

The  contessa  was  fond  of  punctuating  her  conversa 
tion  with  sharp  interrogations,  but  in  the  present  in 
stance  the  expression  upon  Ccrini's  face  made  any 
question  unnecessary. 

"  This  is  the  happiest  year  I  have  known  since  I  first 
made  my  home  among  these  books,  my  daughter,"  he  re 
plied,  with  much  feeling.  "  For  a  long  time  I  felt  as  a 
miser  must  feel  surrounded  by  his  gold,  far  more  in 
quantity  than  he  can  ever  count,  yet  separated  by  its 
overwhelming  value  from  the  world  outside.  My  loneli 
ness  came,  of  course,  from  another  cause- — I  craved  the 
opportunity  to  share  my  treasures,  yet  this  opportunity 
came  but  rarely.  Patiently  have  I  waited,  marvelling 
that  so  few  should  even  know  that  these  treasures  exist, 
and  a  lesser  number  should  care  to  partake  of  what  is 

[212] 


THE    SPELL 


offered  to  them  freely  in  as  large  quantities  as  they  are 
able  to  carry  away.  Year  by  year  I  have  watched  the 
number  increase,  I  have  seen  the  signs  of  a  veritable 
renaissance ;  and  as  one  after  another  comes  to  me,  as  you 
have  this  afternoon,  my  heart  fills  with  an  unspeakable 
joy." 

The  sincerity  of  the  old  man  penetrated  through  even 
the  contessa's  worldly  armor,  but  the  problem  she  had  set 
herself  to  solve  was  too  fascinating  to  be  laid  aside.  The 
librarian  need  never  know  how  much  less  interest  she  felt 
in  books  than  in  her  present  undertaking. 

"  So  this  year  has  crowned  your  labors,"  she  replied, 
sympathetically.  "  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  feel  grati 
fied!  You  have  had  a  greater  number  of  converts,  you 
say,  most  of  whom,  I  presume,  come  from  the  libraries 
and  universities  near  by." 

"  Not  at  all !"  contradicted  Cerini,  eagerly.  "  They 
come  from  England,  from  France,  from  Germany — 
and  even  from  your  own  far-off  country,  contessa." 

"  Indeed !"  Amelie  smiled  at  the  air  of  triumph  with 
which  the  librarian  uttered  the  last  words.  "  From 
America?  Have  my  countrymen  really  discovered  what 
rich  mines  of  learning  are  here  in  Florence?" 

Cerini  nodded  his  head  and  drew  his  chair  closer  to 
hers.  "  At  this  very  moment  there  are  two  Americans 
working  here  in  the  library  who  have  so  assimilated  the 
learning  of  the  past  that  they  have  become  a  part  of  it 
themselves.  I  have  had  many  students  here  during  all 
these  years,  but  never  any  one  who  was  able  so  complete 
ly  to  carry  out  my  ideas  of  modern  intellectual  expres 
sion.  What  they  have  done  and  are  doing  has  given  me 
courage  to  believe  that  I  am  not  so  much  of  a  visionary 
as  my  colleagues  think.  If  by  my  influence  I  can  pro- 

[213] 


THE     SPELL 


duce  two  such  modern  humanists  my  labors  will  not  have 
been  in  vain." 

"  Are  these  two  wonderful  men  from  some  library  or 
university  in  America?"  the  contessa  asked,  with  appar 
ent  innocence. 

"  They  are  not,"  replied  the  librarian,  with  emphasis. 
"  If  they  were  they  would  have  come  here,  as  the  others 
have,  with  preconceived  ideas  which  centuries  could  not 
break  down.  One  of  them  is  a  young  advocate  from  Bos 
ton,  and  the  other — you  will  scarcely  believe  me — is  a 
young  woman." 

"  Really?"  The  contessa  manifested  an  interest  not 
wholly  assumed.  "  A  young  woman,  you  say — his  wife, 
perhaps?" 

"  No,  simply  a  friend." 

"  Oh !"  Amclie  smiled  knowingly.  "  Then  perhaps 
soon  to  be  his  wife?" 

"  You  are  wrong  again,  contessa,"  replied  Cerini. 
"  The  man  is  already  married,  so  that  could  hardly  be 
the  case." 

"And  his  wife  makes  no  objections?  Come,  come, 
monsignore,  that  would  not  be  human." 

"  His  wife  is  as  remarkable  in  her  way  as  he  is  in  his," 
the  old  man  answered,  with  confidence.  "  We  have  dis 
cussed  the  matter,  and  she  understands  the  importance 
of  allowing  the  work  to  go  on." 

"  Then  she  has  raised  some  objections?  Do  tell  me 
that  she  has  or  I  shall  find  it  difficult  to  believe  your 
story." 

"  She  did  suggest  that  she  would  have  liked  to  be  able 
to  do  this  work  with  her  husband,  but  that  was  quite  out 
of  the  question,  and  she  saw  it  just  as  I  did." 

"  How  very,  very  interesting!"  the  contessa  remarked, 
[214] 


THE    SPELL 


more  to  herself  than  to  him.  "  I  wish  I  might  see  them 
at  work."  The  librarian  hesitated,  and  Amelie  knew 
that  hesitation  is  consent  if  promptly  followed  up.  "  I 
will  promise  not  to  disturb  them,"  she  urged. 

"  I  should  not  wish  them  to  know  that  I  was  exhibiting 
them  to  my  friends,"  Cerini  said,  doubtfully.  "  Still,  I 
can  see  no  harm  unless  we  disturb  them." 

"  Then  come !"  Amelie  exclaimed,  rising  quickly  lest 
the  old  man  change  his  mind.  "  I  will  be  as  still  as  a 
mouse." 

Cerini  led  the  way  to  the  little  alcove  which  Armstrong 
and  Inez  had  come  to  regard  as  a  part  of  themselves. 
Motioning  to  the  contessa,  he  pointed  out  a  place  beside 
an  ancient  book-shelf  where  she  could  observe  without 
herself  being  seen.  Amelie  studied  the  faces  before  her 
carefully.  Armstrong  was  so  seated  that  only  his  pro 
file  was  visible,  but  Inez  sat  so  squarely  in  front  of 
her  that  had  she  not  been  so  engrossed  in  her  labors 
she  could  hardly  have  avoided  seeing  the  contessa.  It 
was  the  girl's  face  which  first  held  Amelie's  attention. 
In  it  she  read  all  that  Inez  had  fought  so  hard  to  con 
ceal.  She  had  found  the  second  woman !  It  was  not  the 
usual  type,  she  told  herself.  The  passionate  devotion  to 
its  given  object  was  there,  but  it  was  evidently  absolutely 
controlled  by  the  intellectual.  How  much  more  inter 
esting,  the  contessa  thought,  but  how  much  more  danger 
ous! 

Then  she  turned  her  attention  to  Armstrong.  He  was 
younger  than  she  had  expected  and  his  personality  far 
more  attractive.  The  height  of  his  forehead,  the  depth 
of  his  eye,  the  strength  of  his  mouth  were  all  carefully 
noted.  The  contessa  watched  every  movement,  every 

change  in  the  expression,  with  the  keenest  delight.    They 

[215] 


THE     SPELL 


were  an  interesting  pair,  she  admitted,  but  even  her 
astuteness,  she  was  forced  to  confess,  was  unequal  to 
the  task  of  understanding  their  relations  without  further 
study.  The  problem  was  as  new  as  it  was  fascinating, 
and  the  contessa  had  no  misgivings  over  her  little  plot, 
which  had  worked  out  so  successfully. 

She  followed  the  librarian  quietly  back  to  his  study, 
where  she  made  an  appointment  for  him  to  examine  with 
her  the  Morelli  collection  and  to  point  out  to  her  the 
merits  of  the  various  volumes.  She  expressed  her  thanks 
for  the  charming  afternoon  he  had  given  her,  but 
through  it  all,  and  even  after  she  returned  to  her  villa, 
the  faces  of  Armstrong  and  Inez  were  still  before  her. 
Beneath  that  abstraction  which  the  man's  face  and  man 
ner  so  clearly  portrayed,  was  there  a  response  to  the 
woman's  passionate  adoration?  Was  he  capable  of  af 
fection,  or  had  the  intellectual  so  far  claimed  the  as 
cendency  that  the  physical  had,  for  the  time  being  at 
least,  become  so  subdued  as  practically  to  be  eliminated? 
Where  did  the  wife,  who  had  so  attracted  her,  come  in? 
These  were  some  of  the  questions  over  which  the  contessa 
pondered.  The  problem  was  more  complex  than  she  an 
ticipated,  and  she  found  herself  even  more  determined  to 
carry  it  through  to  a  solution. 


XX 


A  WEEK  passed  by  with  little  outward  change  at  the 
Villa  Godilombra.  For  a  day  or  two  after  their  in 
terview  in  the  garden  Armstrong  watched  his  wife 
carefully,  but  as  there  was  apparently  no  difference  in 
her  attitude  toward  him  or  toward  Miss  Thayer  he  de 
cided  that  what  she  had  said  at  that  time  was  the  result 
merely  of  a  momentary  mood  which  had  since  passed 
away.  He  also  watched  Miss  Thayer,  to  satisfy  himself 
in  regard  to  the  monstrous  suggestion  Helen  had  made 
that  she  was  in  love  with  him,  and  became  convinced 
that  his  own  explanation  of  her  feelings  toward  him  was 
correct.  Having  settled  these  two  important  matters  to 
his  entire  satisfaction,  he  promptly  discarded  them  from 
his  mind  and  devoted  himself  to  the  single  purpose  of 
completing  his  work. 

"  Once  let  me  get  this  finished,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  and  Helen  will  see  that  there  is  nothing  between  us." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Inez  had  not  been  pleased  with 
Armstrong's  suggestion  to  Helen  that  she  should  take 
up  with  him  a  similar  kind  of  work  in  Boston.  For 
the  first  time  since  she  had  known  him  he  had  done 
something  which  annoyed  her.  She  realized  better  than 
any  one  else  the  absorption  which  held  him  subject  to 
a  different  code  of  conventions,  but  this  did  not  give 

him  a  right  to  assume  that  she  would  accept  such  an 

[217] 


THE     SPELL 


arrangement,  without  at  least  raising  the  question  with 
her.  Helen  and  Mr.  Cartwright  could  but  think  that 
the  matter  had  already  been  discussed  between  them,  and 
it  placed  her  in  a  false  light  at  a  time  when  she  felt  that 
her  position  was  sufficiently  untenable  without  this  un 
fair  and  unnecessary  addition.  She  also  realized,  as 
Armstrong  apparently  did  not  even  after  Uncle  Pea- 
body's  pointed  remarks,  that  this  daily  companionship 
would  be  entirely  impossible. 

During  those  few  days,  therefore,  when  Armstrong 
was  observing  her,  she  was  in  a  mood  quite  at  variance 
with  what  Helen  had  described;  but  what  had  wounded 
her  in  one  respect  proved  to  be  a  salve  in  another.  Had 
Armstrong  been  conscious  of  her  affection  for  him,  or 
had  he  himself  reciprocated  it,  the  request  would  never 
have  been  made.  She  was  quite  safe,  therefore,  to  con 
tinue  on  until  the  book  was  finished,  and  the  danger  lay, 
as  she  had  told  her  conscience,  only  with  herself.  And 
even  with  this  annoyance,  which,  after  all,  was  but  an 
incident,  she  felt  it  to  be  her  only  happiness  to  stay  be 
side  him  as  long  as  she  could.  She  dreaded  the  time 
when  the  break  must  come,  for  she  saw  no  light  beyond 
that  point. 

Helen  had  herself  well  in  hand.  She  was  conscious  of 
Jack's  scrutiny,  and  was  also  conscious  of  the  relaxing 
of  his  watchfulness.  She  saw  his  new  interest  in  Inez, 
and  was  equally  conscious  of  her  friend's  unusual  frame 
of  mind.  Everything  seemed  to  Helen  to  be  intensified 
to  such  a  degree  that  she  could  read  all  that  was  passing 
in  the  minds  of  those  about  her,  and  she  wondered  if 
some  new  power  had  been  given  her  to  make  her  test  the 
harder.  She  had  already  felt  the  force  of  the  blow ;  the 
others  had  it  still  before  them.  And  it  would  be  a  blow, 

[218] 


THE     SPELL 


at  least  to  Jack,  she  was  sure — not  so  hard  a  one  as  in 
her  own  case,  for  after  the  pain  of  the  break  there  was 
for  him  happiness  and  serenity ;  hut  he  had  cared  for 
her,  and  when  he  once  came  to  a  realization  of  what  must 
be  he  would  suffer,  too.  This  was  her  only  consolation. 

Naturally,  Helen  turned  to  Uncle  Peabody.  Now  that 
all  was  settled,  it  was  better  that  he  should  know  from 
her  how  matters  stood  rather  than  surmise  as  he  and 
Emory  had  done ;  and  besides  this,  the  burden  had  be 
come  too  heavy  to  be  borne  alone.  She  waited  a  few 
days  for  the  right  opportunity,  which  came  during  a 
morning  walk  along  the  ancient  road  above  the  villa 
which  led  to  the  highest  point  of  Settignano.  They  had 
left  the  frequented  part  of  the  path  behind  them,  and 
were  strolling  among  the  rocks  and  trees  of  the  little 
plateau  commanding  a  view  of  the  panorama  on  either 
side. 

"  I  wish  I  could  find  out  from  Jack  how  much  longer 
you  are  to  remain  in  Florence,"  Uncle  Peabody  said. 
"  I  really  need  to  get  back  to  my  work." 

"  Not  yet,"  exclaimed  Helen,  quickly.  "  Don't  go 
yet.  I  need  you  so  much !" 

Uncle  Peabody  regarded  his  niece  critically.  There 
was  a  new  note  in  her  voice,  and  it  pained  him. 

"  It  won't  be  much  longer,  uncle,"  Helen  continued. 
"  I  need  you  here,  and  I  may  want  you  to  go  back  home 
with  me." 

"  I  could  not  do  that,  Helen ;  but  of  course  I  will 
stay  here  as  long  as  you  really  need  me." 

"  But  you  would  go  back  with  me  if  I  needed  that,  too, 
would  you  not?"  insisted  Helen. 

"  If  you  needed  me,  yes ;  but  I  can't  imagine  any  such 
necessity." 

[219] 


THE    SPELL 


"  It  would  be  so  hard  to  go  home  alone." 

Helen's  voice  sank  almost  to  a  whisper. 

"  Alone?"  echoed  Uncle  Peabody.  "  Is  Jack  going  to 
stay  over  here  and  send  you  back  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  Jack  is  going  to  do,  but  I  shall 
return  home  as  soon  as  his  book  is  completed ;  and  unless 
you  go  with  me  I  shall  go  alone." 

Uncle  Peabody  understood.  "  My  dear,  dear  child," 
he  said,  taking  her  hand  in  his  and  pressing  it  sympa 
thetically. 

"  Don't,  please."  Helen  gently  withdrew  her  hand. 
"  If  you  do  that  I  shall  become  completely  unnerved. 
Let  us  return  to  the  villa ;  I  really  want  to  talk  with  you 
about  it." 

The  short  walk  home  was  accomplished  in  silence.  As 
they  entered  the  hallway  Uncle  Peabody  was  the  first  to 
speak.  "  Where  shall  we  go?"  he  asked. 

"  To  my  '  snuggery,'  "  Helen  answered.  "  There  we 
are  sure  not  to  be  interrupted." 

"  Now  tell  me  all  about  it,"  he  urged,  as  they  seated 
themselves. 

"  I  imagine  you  know  a  good  deal  about  the  situation 
without  my  telling  you,"  began  Helen,  bravely ;  "  but 
I  want  you  to  know  the  whole  story.  Otherwise  you  can't 
help  me,  and  without  your  aid  I  am  absolutely  alone." 

"  You  know  well  that  you  can  depend  upon  that,"  he 
interrupted. 

Helen  moved  nearer  and  passed  her  hand  through 
his  arm.  "  We  have  made  a  horrible  mistake,  Jack  and 
I,"  she  said.  "  We  are  not  at  all  suited  to  each  other, 
and  never  should  have  married." 

"  That  is  a  pretty  serious  statement,"  replied  Uncle 

Peabody. 

[220] 


THE     SPELL 


"  It  is,"  assented  Helen ;  "  but  the  fact  itself  is 
even  more  serious.  Tell  me,  do  you  not  see  that  Jack 
is  a  very  different  man  from  the  one  you  first  met 
here?" 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  There  can  be  no  question  about 
that." 

"  If  this  change  was  but  a  passing  mood  it  would  not 
be  so  serious,"  continued  Helen,  "  but  the  Jack  I  know 
now  is  the  real  Jack,  and  as  such  our  interests  are  en 
tirely  apart." 

"  But  all  this  may  correct  itself,"  suggested  Uncle 
Peabody.  "  Why  not  get  him  away  from  the  influences 
which  have  produced  this  change  and  see  if  that  will  not 
straighten  matters  out?" 

Helen  was  thoughtful  for  a  moment.  "  That  would 
never  do,"  she  said,  at  length.  "  You  see,  there  is  another 
consideration  which  enters  in.  Inez  and  Jack  are  in  love 
with  each  other." 

"  Has  Jack  admitted  this?"  demanded  Uncle  Peabody. 

Helen  smiled  sadly.  "  No ;  he  would  never  admit  it, 
even  if  he  knew  it  to  be  true.  At  present  his  affection  is 
wholly  centered  upon  his  book,  and  he  himself  has  no 
real  conception  of  how  matters  stand." 

"  Then  why  do  you  feel  so  certain?  I  think  you  are 
right  about  Miss  Thayer,  but  I  have  seen  nothing  to 
criticise  in  Jack's  conduct  except  this  complete  subjuga 
tion  to  his  work." 

"  I  have  been  watching  it  for  weeks,  uncle,  and  I  know 
that  I  am  right.  The  old  Jack — the  Jack  I  married — 
found  in  me  the  response  he  craved ;  but  to  the  new  Jack 
— the  real  Jack — I  can  give  nothing.  Inez  is  his  coun 
terpart;  Inez  is  the  woman  who  can  talk  his  language 
and  live  his  life — not  I." 

[221] 


THE     SPELL 


"  There  is  no  reason  why  you  could  not  do  this  if  he 
gave  you  the  chance,"  he  asserted. 

"  At  first  it  was  my  fault  that  I  did  not  make  the 
effort  when  he  did  give  me  the  chance.  Then  I  tried  to 
enter  into  it — you  remember  the  day  I  went  to  the  li 
brary — but  it  was  too  late.  Cerini  showed  me  how  hope 
less  it  was.  Then  you  remember  Professor  Tesso's  story. 
He  was  right;  they  are  absolutely  suited  to  each  other. 
It  is  useless  to  fight  against  it  and  thus  increase  the 
misery." 

"  If  you  are  not  going  to  fight  against  it,  what  are 
you  going  to  do?" 

"  I  am  going  to  right  the  wrong  in  the  only  way  which 
remains,"  replied  Helen,  firmly. 

"  I  don't  see  it  yet."  Uncle  Peabody  showed  his  per 
plexity.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"  Jack  and  I  must  be  separated  just  as  soon  as  it  can 
be  arranged." 

Uncle  Peabody  placed  his  hands  upon  her  shoulders 
and  looked  into  her  eyes.  With  all  the  advance  signals 
of  the  storm  which  he  had  noted  he  was  unprepared  for 
this  climax.  "  Surely  that  point  has  not  yet  arrived, 
Helen,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  '  Those  whom  God  hath  joined 
together — 

"  That  is  just  the  point,"  she  interrupted.  "  Those 
whom  God  joins  together  are  those  who  are  suited  to  each 
other.  When  it  becomes  evident  that  two  people  have 
been  married  who  are  unsuitcd,  it  is  also  evident  that 
God  never  joined  them  together,  and  that  they  ought 
not  to  stay  together.  That  is  the  case  with  Jack  and 
me." 

"  Have  you  told  Jack  your  decision?" 

"  Not  in  so  many  words,  but  in  substance.     He  does 
[222] 


not  appreciate  the  situation  at  all,  and  he  won't  until  the 
book  is  finished." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  home  for  a  while  and  see  what 
happens  ?" 

"  If  I  went  away  now  Inez  would  have  to  leave,  and 
that  would  interrupt  the  work." 

"  I  can't  follow  you,  Helen.  One  moment  you  speak 
of  the  misery  this  work  has  brought  to  you,  and  the  next 
moment  you  can't  do  something  because  it  will  interfere 
with  the  very  work  which  you  would  like  to  stop." 

"  It  seems  to  be  my  fate  not  to  be  able  to  make  myself 
understood,"  Helen  replied, wearily.  "  Let  me  try  again. 
I  have  no  desire  to  stop  the  work.  It  is  a  necessary  part 
of  Jack's  development,  and  it  will  open  up  a  great  future 
for  him." 

"  But  to  continue  this  means  to  continue  the  intimacy 
between  him  and  Miss  Thayer,"  insisted  Uncle  Peabody. 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  stop  that,  either."  Helen  was 
calm  and  firm  in  her  replies.  "  It  would  be  no  satis 
faction  to  hold  Jack  to  me  when  I  know  perfectly  well 
that  duty  and  marriage  vows  remain  as  the  only  ties. 
It  breaks  my  heart  that  all  this  has  happened,  but 
neither  the  work  itself  nor  even  Inez  is  responsible. 
The  other  side  of  Jack  was  like  an  undeveloped  negative 
— these  are  simply  the  mediums  which  have  brought  out 
the  picture  which  was  already  there." 

"  You  are  not  in  a  condition  to  consider  this  matter 
as  you  should,  Helen,"  Uncle  Peabody  replied,  hardly 
knowing  what  to  say.  "  The  whole  affair  has  been  prey 
ing  on  your  mind  for  so  long  that  you  are  arriving  at 
conclusions  which  may  or  may  not  be  justified.  Your 
very  calmness  shows  that  you  do  not  appreciate  the  seri 
ousness  of  your  suggestions." 

[  223  ] 


THE    SPELL 


Helen  looked  at  Uncle  Pcabody  reproachfully. 
"  Don't  make  me  think  that  men  are  wilfully  obtuse," 
she  said.  "  When  I  talked  it  over  with  Jack  he  called 
it  jealousy;  now  you  think  I  lack  an  appreciation  of  the 
seriousness  of  it  all !"  Helen  paused  for  a  moment  and 
closed  her  eyes.  When  she  spoke  again  all  the  intensity 
of  her  nature  burst  forth.  "  Can  you  not  see  beneath 
this  calmness  the  effort  I  am  making  to  do  my  duty?" 
she  asked,  in  a  low,  tense  voice.  "  Can  you  not  see  my 
heart  burned  to  ashes  by  the  fire  it  has  passed  through? 
Look  at  me,  uncle.  Jack  says  I  seem  ten  years  older — 
twenty  would  be  nearer  the  truth.  Do  these  changes 
come  to  those  who  fail  to  appreciate  what  they  are  do 
ing?  It  is  not  that  I  don't  realize;  it  is  because  I  can't 
forget." 

"  Don't  misunderstand  me,  child,"  Uncle  Peabody 
hastened  to  say,  appalled  by  the  effect  of  his  words. 
"  My  own  heart  has  bled  for  you  all  these  weeks,  and  I 
would  be  the  last  to  add  another  burden  to  the  load  you 
bear.  It  is  hard  to  suffer,  but  sometimes  I  think  it  is 
almost  as  hard  to  see  those  one  loves  passing  through  an 
ordeal  which  he  is  powerless  to  lighten.  I  don't  want  you 
to  take  a  step  which  will  plunge  you  into  deeper  sorrow, 
that  is  all.  You  may  be  right,  but  I  pray  God  that 
you  are  wrong.  Now  let  me  help  you,  if  I  can." 

Helen  smiled  through  the  mist  before  her  eyes.  "  You 
can  help  me,"  she  said,  "  just  by  being  your  own  dear 
self  during  these  hard  weeks  to  come.  Stay  here  until 
it  is  over,  and  then  take  me  home,  where  you  can  show 
me  how  to  use  the  years  I  see  before  me."  Helen  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands.  "  Oh,  those  years !"  she  cried ; 
"  how  can  I  endure  them  ?" 

"  Come,  come,  Helen,"  urged  Uncle  Peabody,  kindly, 
[224] 


"  I  can't  believe  that  the  world  has  all  gone  wrong,  as 
you  think  it  has.  Let  us  take  one  step  at  a  time,  and  see 
if  together  we  can't  find  the  sun  shining  through  the 
cypress-trees.  Tell  me  just  what  you  propose  to  do." 

"  The  programme  is  a  simple  one,"  Helen  answered. 
"  Outwardly  there  will  be  no  change.  I  shall  make  Jack's 
home  as  attractive  as  possible  to  him  while  we  share 
it  together.  Inez  is  my  guest,  and  will  be  welcome  as 
long  as  I  am  here.  Other  than  this  it  will  be  as  if  we 
all  were  visitors.  Jack  will  notice  no  difference  while 
his  work  lasts.  Then  when  it  is  completed  you  and  I 
will  go  back  home.  Jack  may  stay  here  or  return,  as 
he  chooses.  Inez  will  decide  her  own  course.  Then  Jack 
will  at  last  understand  that  I  meant  what  I  said — that 
I  saw  that  I  stood  in  the  way  of  his  future  and  stepped 
aside." 

"  Do  you  imagine  that  he  will  permit  this  when  once 
he  understands?"  asked  Uncle  Pcabody. 

"  He  will  try  to  prevent  it,"  assented  Helen.  "  He 
will  realize  that  he  has  neglected  me  and  he  will  want  to 
atone,  but  this  will  be  from  a  sense  of  duty,  even  though 
he  does  not  know  it.  The  actual  break  will  be  a  blow  to 
him,  but  then  he  will  turn  to  Inez  and  will  find  that  I 
understood  him  better  than  he  did  himself." 

"  But  he  is  counting  on  continuing  this  work  in  Bos 
ton  next  winter.  He  spoke  of  it  again  yesterday,  and 
said  how  splendid  it  was  of  you  to  make  it  possible  for 
Miss  Thayer  to  work  there  with  him." 

Helen  rose  and  stepped  out  into  the  garden,  looking 
far  away  into  the  distance.  Then  she  turned  toward  him. 

"  I  am  making  it  possible,  am  I  not?"  she  said,  simply. 

And  the  lump  in  Uncle  Peabody's  throat  told  him  that 
he  understood  at  last. 

is  [  225  ] 


XXI 


THE  evening  had  arrived  for  the  reception  at 
Villa  Godilombra  by  which  Helen  was  to  acknowl 
edge  the  many  social  obligations  laid  upon  her  by 
her  friends  in  Florence.  In  the  details  of  preparation 
she  had  found  temporary  relief  from  her  ever-present 
burden,  with  Uncle  Peabody  assuming  the  role  of  gen 
eral  adviser,  comforter,  and  prop.  Together  they  had 
worked  out  the  list  of  guests ;  together  they  had  planned 
the  many  little  surprises  which  should  make  the  event 
unique.  Much  to  old  Giuseppe's  disgust,  his  own  flowers 
were  found  to  be  inadequate,  and  to  his  camellias,  lilies, 
oleanders,  and  roses  was  added  a  profusion  of  those  rare 
orchids  which  bear  witness  that  the  City  of  Flowers  is 
well  named.  Emory  was  also  pressed  into  service  as  the 
day  drew  near,  and  his  energy  was  untiring  in  carrying 
out  the  ideas  of  his  superior  officers  and  in  suggesting 
original  ones  of  his  own. 

Armstrong  had  expressed  his  willingness  to  co-operate, 
but  was  obviously  relieved  to  find  his  services  unnecessary. 
He  had  reached  a  crisis  in  his  work,  he  explained,  and  if 
he  really  was  not  needed  it  would  hasten  the  conclusion 
of  his  labors  if  they  might  be  uninterrupted  at  this 
particular  point.  Inez  had  also  offered  her  aid,  but 
Armstrong  insisted  that  she  could  not  be  spared  unless 

[226] 


THE     SPELL 


her  presence  at  the  villa  was  absolutely  demanded.  So 
the  work  upon  the  masterpiece  had  proceeded  without  a 
break,  while  little  by  little  the  plans  for  the  reception 
matured. 

The  novelty  of  the  preparations  consisted  principally 
in  the  electrical  and  the  floral  displays.  Uncle  Peabody 
succeeded  in  having  a  number  of  wires  run  from  the 
trolley-line  into  the  villa  and  the  garden,  leaving  Emory 
to  plan  an  arrangement  of  lights  which  did  credit  to 
the  limited  number  of  electrical  courses  which  his  col 
lege  curriculum  had  contained.  The  grotto  was  lighted 
by  fascinating  little  incandescent  lamps,  which  shed  their 
rays  dimly  through  the  guarding  cypresses  but  full 
upon  the  varicolored  shells  and  stones.  Along  the  top 
of  the  retaining  wall,  and  scattered  here  and  there  at 
uneven  distances  and  heights  among  the  trees  and  the 
statues,  the  lights  looked  like  a  swarm  of  magnificent 
fire-flies  resting,  for  the  time,  wherever  they  happened  to 
-  alight.  But  Emory's  piece  de  resistance  was  the  foun 
tain,  beneath  the  spray  of  which  he  had  helped  the  elec 
trician  to  fashion  a  brilliant  fleur-de-lis  in  compliment  to 
the  city  of  their  adoption. 

This  final  triumph  was  brought  to  a  successful  con 
clusion  almost  simultaneously  with  the  cessation  of 
Helen's  labors  in  transforming  the  dining  -  room,  the 
hallway,  and  the  verandas  into  veritable  flower  arbors. 
Old  Giuseppe  and  the  florist's  men  had  accomplished 
wonders  under  Helen's  guidance,  and  they  approved  the 
final  result  as  enthusiastically  as  they  had  opposed  the 
scheme  at  first,  when  Helen  had  insisted  upon  a  depart 
ure  from  the  conventional  "  set  pieces  "  which  they  tried 
to  urge  upon  her.  Realizing  that  the  time  was  ap 
proaching  for  the  light  repast,  and  glad  of  a  respite, 

[227] 


THE     SPELL 


Helen  wandered  out  to  the  garden  where  Emory  and 
Uncle  Peabody,  hand  in  hand,  were  executing  an  hilari 
ous  dance  around  the  fountain. 

"  What  in  the  world —  "  began  Helen,  in  amazement. 

"  It  is  great,  is  it  not,  Mr.  Cartwright?"  cried  Emory, 
ceasing  his  evolutions  and  turning  to  Uncle  Peabody. 
"  This  settles  it ;  I  am  going  home  on  the  next  steamer 
and  set  myself  up  as  an  electrical  engineer — specialty, 
decoration  of  Italian  gardens.  Watch,  Helen — I  will 
turn  on  the  lights." 

In  an  instant  the  flitting  insects  were  flickering 
throughout  the  garden,  and  the  water  of  the  fountain 
became  a  living  flame.  Helen's  first  exclamation  of  de 
light  was  interrupted  by  Giuseppe's  groan  of  terror  as 
the  old  gardener  hastily  retreated  to  the  house,  crossing 
himself  and  praying  for  divine  protection  against  the 
magic  of  the  evil  one  which  had  entered  and  taken  pos 
session  of  his  very  domain.  The  suspicion  with  which 
he  had  viewed  the  labors  of  the  electricians  during  the 
past  few  days  was  now  fully  justified,  and  he  saw  his 
work  of  thirty  years  in  danger  of  destruction  by  the  con 
flagration  which  he  believed  must  inevitably  follow. 

"  Splendid,  Phil !"  cried  Helen,  when  Giuseppe  was  at 
last  quieted.  "  I  had  no  idea  you  were  carrying  out  so 
grand  a  scheme.  What  should  I  have  done  without  you  ?" 

"  It  was  Mr.  Cartwright's  idea,  you  know,  Helen,"  in 
sisted  Emory. 

"  To  get  the  light  up  here  —  not  the  arrangement, 
which  is  all  to  your  credit,"  Uncle  Peabody  hastened  to 
add. 

"  I  owe  everything  to  both  of  you,"  said  Helen,  hold 
ing  out  a  hand  to  each.  "  Now  I  want  to  see  every 
light."  Slowly  they  walked  about  the  garden  inspect- 

[228] 


THE     SPELL 


ing  the  illumination.  "  It  is  perfect,"  exclaimed  Helen. 
"  I  can't  tell  you  how  pleased  I  am  with  it.  I  ought  to 
be  jealous  that  you  have  so  outdone  me  in  your  part  of 
the  decoration,  but  I  am  really  proud  of  you !" 

As  they  were  taking  an  admiring  view  of  the  floral 
arrangements  Jack  and  Inez  rode  up.  Emory  started 
to  suggest  to  them  a  view  of  the  garden,  but  a  glance 
from  Helen  prevented. 

"  Save  it  for  a  surprise,  Phil,"  she  whispered.  They 
have  no  idea  of  what  you  have  done." 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  when  the  first  guests  ar 
rived,  and  for  an  hour  Helen,  Jack,  and  Uncle  Peabody 
greeted  the  brilliant  gathering  as  it  assembled.  To  most 
of  them  Armstrong  was  a  complete  stranger,  and  it  was 
quite  evident  that  many  of  those  who  had  known  and 
admired  Helen  and  Mr.  Cartwright  possessed  no  little 
curiosity  concerning  this  man  of  whom  so  little  had  been 
seen. 

"  Then  there  really  is  a  Mr.  Armstrong,  after  all," 
exclaimed  the  Marchesa  Castellani,  smiling  blandly  as 
Helen  presented  him.  "  We  had  almost  come  to  look 
upon  you  as  one  of  those  American — what  shall  we  say? 
— conceits." 

The  color  came  to  Helen's  face,  but  before  she  could 
reply  Cerini  pressed  forward  from  behind. 

"  Signor  Armstrong  has  been  my  guest  these  weeks, 
marchesa,  inhaling  the  wisdom  of  the  past  instead  of  the 
sweeter  but  more  transitory  grandeur  of  Florentine  so 
ciety.  This  has  perhaps  been  his  loss,  and  yours ;  but, 
with  his  great  work  nearly  ready  for  the  press,  dare 
we  say  that  the  world  will  not  be  the  richer  for  the 
sacrifice?" 

"  I  shall  not  be  the  one  to  dare,"  replied  the  marchesa, 
[229] 


THE    SPELL 


again  smiling  and  passing  on  to  make  room  for  others 
behind  her. 

Cerini  watched  his  opportunity  for  another  word  with 
Helen.  "  I  came  to-night,"  he  said,  "  expressly  to  tell 
you  that  your  reward  is  near  at  hand.  Another  week 
and  your  husband's  labors  will  be  completed.  I  have 
thought  often  of  our  conversation,  and  of  your  pa 
tience;  but  the  result  of  my  advice  has  been  more  far- 
reaching  even  than  I  thought.  The  character-building 
has  extended  beyond  him  and  his  *  sister-worker ' — it  has 
reached  you  as  well." 

The  arrival  of  new  guests  fortunately  delayed  the 
necessity  of  immediate  reply,  but  it  also  gave  Cerini  an 
opportunity  to  watch  the  effect  of  his  words.  The  old 
man's  voice  softened  as  he  continued : 

"  You  have  suffered,  my  daughter ;  I  did  not  know 
till  now  how  much.  Yet  suffering  is  essential.  George 
Eliot  was  a  woman,  and  she  knew  a  woman's  heart  when 
she  wrote,  '  Deep,  unspeakable  siiffcring  is  a  baptism,  a 
regeneration  —  the  initiation  into  a  new  state.'  Your 
initiation  is  passed,  my  daughter,  and  your  enjoyment 
of  the  new  state  is  near  at  hand.  Do  you  not  see  now 
how  far-reaching  has  been  the  influence?" 

"Yes,"  Helen  replied,  with  a  tremor  in  her  voice; 
"  and  this  time  I  think  I  may  say  that  it  has  been  more 
far-reaching  than  even  you  realize." 

Cerini's  c}Tes  sought  hers  scarchingly.  He  had  al 
ready  seen  more  than  she  had  intended. 

"  Then  the  book  is  really  coming  to  its  completion?" 
she  continued,  calmly.  "  And  you  feel  well  satisfied  with 
my  husband's  work?" 

"  It  is  superb ;  it  is  magnificent,"  cried  Cerini,  en 
thusiastically.  "  He  has  produced  a  work  which  is  with- 

[230] 


THE    SPELL 


out  an  equal  in  the  veracity  of  its  portrayal  of  the 
period  and  in  the  insight  which  he  has  shown  in  dealing 
with  the  characters  themselves.  It  will  make  your  hus 
band  famous." 

"  We  shall  be  very  proud  of  him,  shall  we  not?"  re 
plied  Helen,  forcing  a  smile.  "  And  he  will  owe  so  much 
to  you  for  the  help  and  the  inspiration  you  have  given 
him." 

"  And  also  to  you,  my  daughter,"  added  the  librarian, 
meaningly. 

Emory  approached  as  Cerini  left  her  side.  "  Every 
one  is  in  the  garden  now,  Helen.  May  I  take  you 
there?" 

Helen  glanced  around  for  her  husband,  and  saw  him 
somewhat  apart  from  the  other  guests  engaged  in  a  con 
versation  with  the  Contessa  Morelli.  Unconsciously  her 
mind  went  back  to  what  the  contessa  had  said  to  her 
about  marriage  in  general  and  about  her  husband  in 
particular,  and  she  wondered  what  her  new  friend 
thought  of  him,  now  that  they  had  actually  met. 

"  Jack  has  his  hands  full  for  the  present,"  Emory  re 
marked,  noting  her  glance.  "  You  need  not  worry  about 
him.  By  Jove,  Helen,  you  are  simply  stunning  to 
night  !"  he  continued,  in  a  low  voice,  as  they  strolled 
across  the  veranda.  "  I  have  been  anxious  about  you, 
but  now  you  are  yourself  again.  You  should  always 
wear  white." 

Helen  made  no  answer.  She  was  recalling  to  herself 
the  fact  that  to-night,  for  the  first  time,  Jack  had  made 
no  comment  upon  her  appearance,  as  he  had  always  done 
before;  yet  she  had  tried  to  wear  the  very  things  Avhich 
he  preferred.  After  all,  she  thought,  it  was  better  so. 
But  what  a  mockery  to  stand  beside  a  man,  as  she  stood 

[231] 


THE     SPELL 


with  Jack  this  evening,  jointly  receiving  their  friends 
and  their  friends'  congratulations !  What  deception ! 
What  ignominy ! 

In  the  mean  time,  as  Emory  had  surmised,  Armstrong 
had  his  hands  sufficiently  full  with  the  contessa.  Her 
mind  had  been  too  constantly  applied  to  her  interesting 
problem,  during  the  days  which  had  elapsed  since  her 
call  upon  Cerini,  to  allow  this  opportunity  to  escape  her. 
She  had  exercised  every  art  she  possessed  to  learn  some 
thing  further  from  Helen ;  she  even  had  Emory  take 
tea  with  her  with  the  same  definite  object  in  view;  but 
either  consciously  or  unconsciously  both  had  parried  her 
diplomatic  questioning  with  an  air  so  natural  and  simple 
as  to  convince  her  that  they  were  not  unskilled  them 
selves  in  the  game  in  which  she  considered  herself  an 
adept.  The  one  thing  which  remained  was  the  picture 
she  had  seen  at  the  library ;  but  this  had  been  so  positive 
in  the  impression  which  it  had  made  that  she  found  her 
self  even  more  keen  than  ever  to  follow  up  the  small  ad 
vantage  she  had  gained. 

Watching  her  opportunity,  Amelie  found  herself  be 
side  Armstrong,  with  the  other  guests  far  enough  re 
moved  to  enable  her  to  converse  with  him  without  being 
overheard. 

"  All  Florence  owes  you  a  debt  of  gratitude  for  bring 
ing  your  beautiful  wife  here,"  she  began.  "  And  how 
generous  you  have  been  to  let  us  have  so  much  of  her 
while  you  have  been  otherwise  engaged  !" 

"  It  has  been  my  misfortune  not  to  be  able  to  share 
her  social  pleasures,"  Armstrong  replied.  "  Perhaps  she 
has  told  you  of  the  serious  work  upon  which  I  am  en 
gaged." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  answered  the  contessa,  cheerfully.  "  I 
[232] 


THE     SPELL 


am  sure  every  man  in  Florence  who  has  had  an  oppor 
tunity  to  meet  your  wife  has  blessed  you  for  your  de 
votion  to  this  '  serious  work,'  as  you  call  it.  Italian  hus 
bands  are  not  so  generous,  especially  upon  their  honey 
moon." 

Armstrong  bowed  stiffly.  The  contessa's  manner  was 
far  too  affable  to  warrant  him  in  taking  offence,  yet 
he  felt  distinctly  annoyed  by  what  she  said.  Amelie, 
however,  gave  him  no  opportunity  to  reply. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  these  Italian  husbands,"  she  con 
tinued,  shrugging  her  beautiful  shoulders.  "  I  have  one, 
so  I  know  all  about  it.  They  go  into  paroxysms  of  fury 
even  at  the  thought  of  having  their  wives  go  about 
without  them,  receiving  the  admiration  of  other  men.  I 
have  no  doubt  that  at  this  very  moment  my  dear  Morelli 
is  either  abusing  one  of  the  servants  or  breaking  some  of 
the  furniture,  just  because  I  happen  to  be  here  while  he 
is  nursing  his  gouty  foot  at  home.  I  am  always  proud 
of  my  countrymen  when  I  see  them,  as  you  are,  willing 
to  let  their  wives  enjoy  themselves  without  them." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  have  observed  this  trait  among 
American  husbands  developed  to  the  extent  you  men 
tion,"  Armstrong  observed,  with  little  enthusiasm. 

"You  haven't?"  queried  the  contcssa,  innocently. 
"  Perhaps  that  is  because  you  are  such  a  learned  man, 
with  your  eyes  upon  your  books  instead  of  upon  the 
world.  You  must  take  my  word  that  it  is  so.  But  you 
know  enough  of  the  world  to  recognize  admiration  when 
you  yourself  become  the  object  of  it?" 

Amelie  fastened  upon  her  companion  an  arch  smile 
so  full  of  meaning  that  Armstrong  was  caught  entirely 
off  his  guard. 

"  I  the  object  of  admiration?"  he  asked,  incredulous- 
[233] 


THE     SPELL 


ly.  "  I  wish  I  might  think  that  you  were  speaking  of 
your  own." 

The  contessa  laughed  merrily.  "  I  certainly  laid  my 
self  open  for  that,  did  I  not?"  she  replied.  "  Now  sup 
pose  I  had  said  adoration  instead  of  admiration,  then 
you  would  not  have  replied  as  you  did." 

"  I  should  hardly  have  so  presumed,"  he  said,  mystified 
by  the  contessa's  conversation. 

"  Yet  I  have  seen  you  the  object  of  adoration — noth 
ing  less.  I  have  seen  eyes  resting  upon  your  face  filled 
with  a  devotion  which  a  woman  never  gives  but  once. 
You  ought  to  feel  very  proud  to  be  able  to  inspire  all 
that,  Mr.  Armstrong.  I  should  if  I  were  a  man." 

"  You  have  evidently  mistaken  me  for  some  one  else, 
contessa.  Otherwise  I  cannot  understand  what  you  are 
saying." 

Amelie  looked  at  him  curiously.  "  I  wonder  if  you  are 
really  ignorant  of  all  this?"  she  asked. 

"  You  say  that  you  have  witnessed  it,  so  it  cannot 
be  my  wife  of  whom  you  speak,  as  you  have  never 
seen  us  together.  I  certainly  know  of  no  other  woman 
who  cares  two  straws  about  me.  It  must  be  that  you 
have  taken  some  one  else  for  me." 

"  No ;  I  am  not  mistaken." 

Armstrong's  curiosity  proved  stronger  than  his  resent 
ment.  "  And  you  have  actually  seen  this?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  and  when  ?" 

The  contessa's  mood  had  become  serious.  She  realized 
that  she  was  playing  with  dangerous  weapons.  "  If  you 
are  sincere  in  what  you  say,  Mr.  Armstrong,  you  would 
not  thank  me  for  telling  you." 

"  But  you  have  gone  so  far  that  now  I  must  insist." 
[234] 


THE     SPELL 


Helen's  words  suddenly  came  back  to  him  as  he  spoke. 
The  contessa  saw  a  change  of  expression  come  over  his 
face,  and  she  held  back  her  answer. 

"  Was  it  at  the  Laurentian  Library  ?"  Armstrong 
asked,  impulsively. 

Amelie  smiled  triumphantly.  "  It  is  really  better  for 
me  not  to  answer  that  question,  my  dear  Mr.  Armstrong. 
I  only  meant  to  pay  you  a  compliment,  and  I  fear 
that  I  have  touched  on  something  I  should  have  avoided. 
You  will  forgive  me,  will  you  not?" 

Armstrong  was  for  the  moment  too  occupied  with  his 
own  thoughts  to  comprehend  fully  what  she  said  to  him. 
Mechanically  he  pressed  the  hand  which  was  held  out  to 
him,  and  a  moment  later  the  contessa  entered  into  a 
merry  conversation  with  some  of  her  friends  in  the  gar 
den.  Too  late  he  realized  that  he  had  tacitly  accepted 
the  compromising  position  into  which  she  had  led  him. 

Emory  left  Helen  in  the  midst  of  an  animated  group 
discussing  in  enthusiastic  tones  their  appreciation  of 
the  many  innovations.  The  musicians  were  concealed 
in  the  "  snuggery,"  playing  airs  from  favorite  operas, 
while  waiters  from  Doney's  served  gelatl  and  paste  and 
champagne  at  little  tables  scattered  throughout  the  gar 
den.  The  cool  air  was  grateful  to  Helen,  and  she  threw 
herself  into  the  enjoyment  of  the  moment.  No  one 
among  her  guests  realized  how  little  the  brilliant,  happy 
scene  fitted  in  with  the  sorrow  in  her  heart.  Yet  the 
musicians  played  on,  the  guests  chatted  merrily,  and  the 
lights  reflected  only  that  side  of  life  which  Helen  felt 
was  hers  no  more.  The  hour-glass  filled  and  emptied, 
with  no  change  save  the  departure  of  the  guests. 

As  the  last  good-night  was  spoken  Helen  sought  me 
chanically  the  low  retaining  wall  against  which  she  had 

[235] 


THE     SPELL 


so  often  rested.  Jack  and  Uncle  Peabody  were  for  the 
moment  inside  the  house,  and  she  was  alone.  Yes,  alone ! 
How  strongly  she  felt  it,  now  that  the  stillness  replaced 
the  hum  of  voices  which  had  filled  the  garden !  Her 
features  did  not  change,  but  a  tear,  unchecked  as  it  was 
unbidden,  coursed  its  way  down  her  cheeks.  Emory  saw 
it  as  he  approached,  unnoticed,  to  say  good-night. 

"  Helen !"  he  whispered,  softly. 

She  turned  quickly  and  brushed  the  tear  away  with 
her  hand.  "  How  you  startled  me !"  she  said.  "  I 
thought  every  one  had  gone." 

"  Helen,"  Emory  repeated,  "  you  are  unhappy." 

"  I  am  tired,"  she  replied,  lightly ;  "  that  is  all." 

"  No,  that  is  not  all,"  he  insisted.  "  You  are  miser 
ably  unhappy." 

"  Don't,  Phil,"  she  entreated. 

"  I  must,  Helen,"  Emory  kept  on.  "  I  should  have 
no  respect  for  myself  if  I  kept  silent  another  moment. 
All  this  time  I  have  stood  by  and  seen  you  suffer  with 
out  saying  a  word,  when  I  have  longed  to  take  you  in  my 
arms  in  spite  of  all  and  comfort  you  as  you  needed  to  be 
comforted." 

"  Phil,  I  beg  of  you !"  Helen  cried,  beseechingly. 
"  You  must  not  say  such  things.  I  am  not  strong 
enough  to  stop  you,  and  every  word  adds  to  the  pain." 

"  Then  there  is  pain !"  cried  Emory,  fiercely.  "  At  last 
I  know  it  from  your  own  lips.  And  if  there  is  pain  it 
gives  me  the  right  to  protect  you  from  it." 

"  Oh,  Phil !"     Helen  sank  helplessly  into  a  chair. 

"  I  have  the  right,"  Emory  repeated.  "  My  love, 
which  you  cast  aside  when  you  accepted  him,  now  gives 
it  to  me;  my  loyalty  in  surrendering  you  to  him  for 
what  I  thought  was  your  happiness  now  gives  it  to  me; 

[236] 


THE    SPELL 


his  selfishness  and  his  neglect  now  give  it  to  me.  And  I 
claim  my  right." 

She  made  no  reply.  Convulsed  with  weeping,  she  sat 
huddled  in  the  chair,  helpless  in  her  sorrow. 

"  I  am  going  to  Jack  Armstrong  now,"  continued 
Emory,  savagely.  "  I  am  going  to  tell  him  what  a  brute 
he  is  and  demand  you  of  him.  I  did  not  give  you  up  to 
be  tortured  by  neglect  while  he  devotes  himself  to  his 
'  affinity.'  '  Emory's  voice  grew  bitter.  "  And  he  calls 
it  his  '  masterpiece  ' !  Better  men  than  he  have  called  it 
by  another  name." 

Helen  rose,  white  and  ghostlike  in  the  pale,  dim  light. 
She  was  calm  again,  and  her  voice  was  compelling  in  its 
quiet  force. 

"  You  have  been  my  friend,  Phil — a  friend  on  whom 
I  have  felt  I  could  rely  always ;  yet  you  take  this  one 
moment,  when  I  need  real,  honest  friendship  more  than 
ever  before  in  all  my  life,  to  add  another  burden.  Is 
it  kind,  Phil — is  it  noble?  I  have  suffered — I  admit  it. 
Jack  is  the  cause  of  it — I  admit  that,  too.  You  have 
discovered  all  this  by  pulling  aside  the  veil  which  by 
my  friend  should  have  been  held  sacred;  but  with  my 
heart  laid  bare  before  you,  can  you  not  see  that  it  con 
tains  no  thought  except  of  him?" 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  Emory  replied,  stubbornly. 

"  You  must  believe  it,"  she  continued,  with  finality. 
"  You  know  that  my  words  are  true.  Jack  Armstrong 
is  my  husband  and  I  am  his  wife.  We  must  forget  what 
you  have  said  and  never  refer  to  it  again.  Come,  let 
us  join  them  in  the  house." 

"  I  can't,  Helen." 

"  Then  we  must  say  good-night  here." 

Emory  took  the  outstretched  hand  in  his.  For  a  mo- 
[237] 


THE    SPELL 


mcnt  their  eyes  met  firmly.     Then  he  raised  her  fingers 
to  his  lips. 

"  It  is  not  good-night,  Helen,"  he  said,  his  voice 
breaking  as  he  spoke ;  "  do  you  understand,  it  is  not 
good-night — it  is  good-bye." 

Her  glance  did  not  falter,  though  a  new  sensation  of 
pain  passed  through  her  heart.  "  Good-bye,"  she  re 
plied,  faintly,  as  she  gently  withdrew  her  hand. 

Armstrong  watched  Emory's  hasty  departure  and 
Helen's  slow  return  to  the  house  from  his  unintentional 
place  of  concealment  behind  the  oleanders,  where  his 
footsteps  had  been  arrested  by  the  sound  of  voices.  The 
contessa's  remarks  had  recalled  with  vivid  intensity  his 
conversation  with  Helen  about  Inez.  She  regarded  his 
relations  with  Miss  Thayer  to  be  at  least  questionable, 
and  he  impatiently  awaited  the  departure  of  the  guests 
to  tell  Helen  what  had  happened  and  to  set  himself 
right  in  her  eyes.  Now  he  had  just  heard  Emory 
express  himself  even  more  pointedly  upon  the  same 
subject. 

The  consciousness  that  he  had  been  an  eavesdropper, 
even  though  unwittingly,  prevented  him  from  carrying 
out  his  purpose.  As  he  saw  Helen  drag  herself  rather 
than  walk  along  the  paths,  he  longed  to  fold  her  to  his 
heart  and  brush  away  her  doubts  for  all  time;  but  to 
do  this  he  must  disclose  his  uncomfortable  position,  and 
this  he  could  not  do.  His  resentment  against  Emory 
faded  away  in  the  face  of  Helen's  splendid  loyalty. 
"  My  heart  contains  no  thought  except  of  him,"  he  had 
heard  her  say;  and  he  thanked  God  that  his  awakening 
had  not  come  too  late. 

After  a  few  moments  he  returned  to  the  house  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  garden. 

[238] 


THE     SPELL 


"  Where  is  Helen?"  he  asked  Uncle  Peabody,  whom  he 
met  at  the  door. 

"  She  has  gone  to  her  room,  Jack,"  Mr.  Cartwright 
replied,  without  meeting  his  eyes.  "  She  said  she  was 
very  tired,  and  asked  particularly  not  to  be  disturbed." 

Armstrong  hesitated.  She  was  hardly  strong  enough 
to  talk  the  matter  over  to-night,  anyway.  It  would  be 
a  kindness  to  leave  it  until  to-morrow. 

"  Thank  God  it  is  not  too  late !"  Uncle  Peabody  heard 
him  repeat  to  himself,  and  the  old  man  wondered  if, 
after  all,  the  sun  was  going  to  shine  through  the  cypress- 
trees. 


XXII 


HELEN  did  not  come  down  to  breakfast  the  next 
morning,  so  Armstrong  and  Miss  Thayer  found 
themselves  at  the  library  at  their  usual  hour  in 
spite  of  the  festivities  of  the  night  before.  The  events 
of  the  evening  impressed  upon  Jack  the  necessity  of 
bringing  his  work  to  a  speedy  conclusion.  With  fever 
ish  haste,  and  forgetful  of  his  companion,  he  seized  his 
pen  and  transferred  to  the  blank  paper  before  him  the 
words  which  came  faster  than  they  could  be  transcribed. 
Left  to  her  own  resources,  Inez  picked  up  the  bunch  of 
manuscript  and  settled  back  in  her  chair  to  run  it  over, 
glancing  from  time  to  time  at  Armstrong,  who  seemed 
consumed  by  the  task  before  him.  Accustomed  as  she 
was  to  his  moods  while  at  work,  Inez  was  almost  fright 
ened  by  the  present  intensity.  She  hesitated  even  to 
move  about  lest  he  be  disturbed,  yet  until  he  gave  her 
something  to  do  she  was  wholly  unemployed. 

For  over  an  hour  Armstrong's  pen  ran  on.  The  fever 
was  upon  him,  the  message  was  in  his  mind,  the  spirit 
must  be  translated  to  the  more  tangible  medium  of  words. 
At  length,  utterly  exhausted  for  the  moment,  he  threw 
aside  his  pen  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"  It  is  finished  !"  he  cried,  looking  for  the  first  time 
into  Inez'  face ;  "  all  is  now  actually  written,  and  the 
revision  alone  remains." 

[240] 


THE    SPELL 


Inez  started  to  speak  a  word  of  congratulation,  but 
in  a  flood  of  realization  she  knew  that  the  companion 
ship  of  the  past  three  months  was  at  an  end.  For  the 
revision  Armstrong  would  need  no  assistance;  so  she 
faltered  for  a  moment,  but  the  omission  was  unnoticed. 

"  I  have  just  written  the  summary  in  the  last  chap 
ter,"  Armstrong  continued.  "  I  have  taken  Michel 
angelo's  allegorical  statues  in  the  Laurentian  Chapel 
as  typifying  the  characteristics  and  the  tendencies  of 
the  period.  All  that  I  have  written  seems  naturally 
to  lead  up  to  them.  Listen." 

In  a  rich,  tense  voice  Armstrong  read  from  the  sheets 
which  he  gathered  together  in  proper  sequence : 

"  *  Michelangelo  himself  has  given  us  in  his  marbles 
the  truest  interpretation  of  the  times  in  which  he  lived. 
After  analyzing  his  correspondence  and  deducing  from 
this  the  customs  of  the  people,  we  turn  to  a  consideration 
of  the  principles  which  lay  beneath.  The  sculptor  was 
a  poet,  and  the  soul  of  the  poet  found  expression  not 
through  his  words  but  through  his  hands.  In  the  sac 
risty  of  San  Lorenzo  there  are  the  tombs  of  the  Medici, 
designed  by  Michelangelo.  They  are  unfinished,  as  is 
typical  of  the  period  in  which  they  were  designed.  At 
the  entrance  to  these  tombs  rest  allegorical  figures,  which 
to  the  casual  observer  indicate  phases  of  darkness  and 
of  light,  of  death  and  of  life.  They  are  two  women  and 
two  men,  and  tradition  names  them  '  Night '  and  '  Day,' 
'  Twilight '  and  '  Dawning.'  To  one  who  analyzes  them, 
however,  after  a  profound  study  of  the  times  in  which 
they  were  produced,  comes  a  realization  that  they  typify 
the  character  and  the  religious  belief  of  the  people  them 
selves.  These  statues  and  their  attendant  genii  are  a 
series  of  abstractions,  symbolizing  the  sleep  and  waking 
is  [  241  ] 


THE    SPELL 


of  existence,  action,  and  thought,  the  gloom  of  death,  the 
lustre  of  life,  and  the  intermediate  states  of  sadness  and 
of  hope  that  form  the  borderland  of  both.  Life  is  a 
dream  between  two  slumbers ;  sleep  is  death's  twin- 
brother;  night  is  the  shadow  of  death,  and  death  is 
the  gate  of  life. 

" '  In  each  of  these  statues  there  is  a  palpitating 
thought,  torn  from  the  artist's  soul  and  crystallized 
in  marble.  It  has  been  said  that  architecture  is  petrified 
music ;  each  of  these  statues  becomes  for  us  a  passion,  fit 
for  musical  expression,  but  turned,  like  Niobe,  to  stone. 
They  have  the  intellectual  vagueness,  the  emotional  cer 
tainty  that  belong  to  the  motives  of  a  symphony.  In 
their  allegories,  left  without  a  key,  sculpture  has  passed 
beyond  her  old  domain  of  placid  concrete  form.  The 
anguish  of  intolerable  emotion,  the  quickening  of  the 
consciousness  to  a  sense  of  suffering,  the  acceptance  of 
the  inevitable,  the  strife  of  the  soul  with  destiny,  the 
burden  and  the  passion  of  mankind — this  is  the  symbol 
ism  of  the  period  as  expressed  by  their  cold,  chisel- 
tortured  marble.' ' 

"  Splendid,  my  son !"  spoke  Cerini's  proud  voice  as 
the  librarian  advanced  toward  them  out  of  the  dim  re 
cess  in  which  he  had  been  standing ;  "  that  is  a  fitting 
ending  to  a  magnificent  work.  Your  use  of  the  statues 
as  symbolisms  of  their  period  is  masterly.  I  myself  have 
felt  it  often,  but  with  me  the  feeling  has  never  found 
expression." 

"  What  a  period  that  was !"  exclaimed  Armstrong. 
"  How  it  seizes  one,  even  now,  after  four  hundred  years ! 
Padre,"  he  said  to  Cerini,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  you 
say  that  this  work  of  mine  is  good?" 

The  librarian  nodded  assent. 
[242] 


THE     SPELL 


"  If  that  is  so,"  continued  Armstrong,  impressive 
ly,  "  it  is  no  more  to  my  credit  than  if  Machiavelli 
or  Leonardo  or  the  Buonarroti  himself  had  written 
it.  It  is  they  who  have  held  my  hand  and  guided  my 
pen." 

"  Ah,  my  son,"  cried  Cerini,  with  delight,  "  you  are 
indeed  a  true  humanist — a  man  in  whom  the  ancients 
take  delight !  Too  bad  that  you  must  drop  it  all,  after 
your  brief  experience  among  this  galaxy  of  greatness, 
to  return  to  the  humdrum  of  commonplace  existence — 
too  bad,  too  bad  !" 

"  I  shall  never  give  it  up,  padre,"  Armstrong  replied, 
firmly ;  "  I  could  not  if  I  tried."  He  paused  as  he  re 
called  Helen's  wan  face  and  spiritless  step.  "  I  have 
been  too  intense.  I  owe  it  to  my  wife  to  share  with  her 
interests  which  lie  along  other  lines,  but  my  life-work 
has  already  been  plotted  out  for  me.  I  met  these  gods 
years  ago,  and  I  did  not  know  them ;  I  felt  them  calling 
me  back  to  them,  and  I  obeyed.  They  have  let  me  sip 
their  cup  of  wisdom,  and  he  who  once  tastes  that  de 
lectable  draught  runs  the  risk  of  becoming  no  longer  his 
own  master.  I  must  leave  them  for  a  breathing-spell; 
I  can  never  wholly  give  myself  to  them  again ;  but  never 
fear,  I  shall  ever  come  back  to  them.  I  could  not  help 
it  if  I  tried." 

The  librarian  watched  the  enthusiasm  of  the  younger 
man  with  rapture. 

"  My  son,  my  son!"  he  cried,  joyfully;  "  my  life  has 
not  been  spent  in  vain  if  I  have  succeeded  in  joining  one 
such  modern  intellect  to  that  noble  band  of  sages  who, 
though  of  the  past,  are  ever  in  the  present.  And  you, 
too,  my  daughter,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Inez — 
"  you,  too,  have  sipped  the  draught  our  friend  speaks 

[243] 


THE    SPELL 


of ;  you,  too,  are  linked  irrevocably  to  the  wisdom  of  the 
ages." 

Inez  bowed  her  head  as  if  receiving  a  benediction. 

"  I  have  tasted  of  it,  father,"  she  replied,  seriously, 
"  but  only  in  degree.  This  experience  is  one  which  can 
never  be  forgotten,  can  never  be  repeated.  I  feel  as  if 
I  were  saying  good-bye  to  friends  dear  and  true  whom 
I  shall  never  see  again." 

Armstrong  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  he  said.  "  Why  should  you 
ever  say  good-bye?" 

Inez  tried  to  smile,  but  her  attempt  ended  in  a  pitiful 
failure. 

"  There  is  nothing  very  strange  about  it,"  she  con 
tinued.  "  You  and  I  drifted  into  this  work  together 
almost  by  accident.  To  me  it  has  been  a  happy  accident, 
and  I  like  to  think  that  I  have  helped  a  little  in  your 
splendid  achievement.  It  has  been  an  experience  of  a 
lifetime,  but,  like  most  experiences  which  are  worth  any 
thing,  it  could  never  happen  again." 

Armstrong  failed  utterly  to  grasp  the  significance  of 
her  words. 

"  Of  course  not,  unless  you  wished  it  so,"  he  said. 

"  Not  even  though  I  wished  it,"  replied  Inez,  firmly. 

The  contessa's  words  were  in  Armstrong's  mind  as 
he  looked  into  her  face.  If  Helen  could  hear  what  she 
had  just  said  his  explanations  would  be  unnecessary. 
He  wished  the  contessa  were  there,  if  she  really  possessed 
any  such  idea  as  her  conversation  had  suggested.  This 
girl  in  love  with  him,  yet  calmly  stating  that  their  asso 
ciation  was  at  an  end,  and  that  any  continuance  was  an 
impossibility ! 

"  It  has  been  a  strain,  Miss  Thayer,  as  Helen  said," 
[244] 


THE     SPELL 


he  replied,  finally ;  "  I  feel  it  myself.  With  the  manu 
script  actually  completed,  I  shall  take  my  time  in  put 
ting  it  into  final  shape.  And  now  I  suggest  that  we 
get  out  into  the  air.  Suppose  we  take  a  little  run  in 
the  motor-car  out  around  San  Domenico,  and  then  back 
home,  to  surprise  them  at  luncheon  ?" 

Inez  saw  in  Armstrong's  suggestion  a  relaxing  of  the 
strained  condition  which  she  had  brought  upon  herself. 

"  Perhaps  Monsignor  Cerini  will  join  us,"  she  added. 

"  Never !"  replied  the  librarian,  with  sudden  fervor. 
"  I  may  indulge  myself  in  air-ships  when  once  they 
become  popular,  but  never  in  an  automobile!  I  will 
have  Maritclli  telephone  for  your  car." 

Inez  smiled  at  Jack  as  they  watched  Cerini  disap 
pear  through  the  door  of  his  study.  Then  Armstrong's 
face  grew  serious. 

"  The  old  man  loves  me  as  if  I  were  his  son,"  he  said, 
feelingly.  "  He  is  more  proud  of  what  I  have  done  than 
if  he  had  accomplished  it  himself." 

"  He  has  reason  to  be  proud,"  replied  Inez ;  "  and  so 
have  we  all." 

In  olden  days  the  bishop  who  was  obliged  to  visit 
his  diocese  at  San  Domenico  or  at  Fiesole  had  not  spoken 
so  lightly  of  the  trip.  Setting  out  on  mule-back,  and 
scattering  blessings  as  he  left  the  Porta  a  Pinti  by  the 
road  still  called  the  Via  Fiesolana,  he  hoped  to  reach 
the  "  Riposo  dei  Vescovi  "  in  time  for  dinner.  There, 
after  a  bountiful  repast,  he  discarded  his  faithful  beast 
of  burden,  and  entered  the  ox-drawn  sledge  which  the 
monks  of  San  Domenico  were  bound  to  provide,  reach 
ing  the  hill-top,  if  all  went  well,  about  sunset.  But 
this  was  before  the  days  even  of  the  stage-coaches,  and 

[245] 


THE    SPELL 


before  the  modern  tramway  enabled  Mother  Florence 
to  reach  out  and  enfold  her  daughters  in  her  arms. 

The  chauffeur  carefully  picked  his  way  through  the 
narrow  Borgo  San  Lorenzo  into  the  more  spacious 
Piazza  del  Duomo.  Passing  around  the  apse  of  the 
cathedral,  they  entered  the  Via  de'  Servi. 

"  Sometime  we  must  stop  and  take  a  look  at  these 
fine  old  palaces,"  said  Armstrong,  leaning  forward  and 
pointing  down  the  street.  "  The  Antinori,  for  instance, 
has  just  been  restored,  and  it  has  one  of  the  most  stun 
ning  Renaissance  court-yards  in  all  Florence.  We  shall 
pass  by  it  in  a  moment." 

The  car  crossed  the  square  of  the  SS.  Annunziata, 
where  they  stopped  for  a  moment  again  to  admire 
Andrea  Delia  Robbia's  swaddled  babies  on  the  facade 
of  the  Foundling  Hospital,  and  to  look  up  from  Tacca's 
statue  of  Duke  Ferdinand  to  the  window  of  the  Antinori 
Palace,  hoping  for  a  glimpse  of  that  face  from  the  past, 
whose  history  is  recorded  by  Browning  in  his  "  Statue 
and  the  Bust."  From  this  point  the  road  was  clearer, 
passing  up  the  Via  Gino  Capponi,  where  Armstrong 
again  pointed  out  the  house  of  Andrea  del  Sarto — 
"  the  little  house  he  used  to  be  so  gay  in  "  — past  the 
Capponi  Palace,  and  also  that  of  San  Clemente,  where 
lived  and  died  the  last  Stuart  Pretender.  With  increas 
ing  speed,  they  crossed  the  Viale  Principe  Amedeo,  past 
the  gloomy  Piazza  Savonarola,  around  the  Cemetery  of 
the  Misericordia,  to  San  Gervasio,  where  the  real  ascent 
began. 

The  sudden  change  from  the  close  atmosphere  of  the 
library  to  the  invigorating  air  acted  as  a  tonic  on  Arm 
strong  and  his  companion ;  and  in  addition  to  this  the 
tension  of  three  months'  close  application  was  lightened. 

[2461 


THE    SPELL 


The  book  was  actually  written!  Inez  thought  she  had 
never  seen  him  in  so  incomparable  a  mood,  as  he  called  her 
attention  to  many  little  points  of  interest  which,  during 
other  rides,  had  been  passed  unnoticed.  On  they  went, 
olive  gardens  alternating  with  splendid  villas  on  either 
side,  until,  almost  before  they  realized  it,  San  Domenico 
was  reached,  and  they  paused  to  regard  the  magnificent 
panorama  spread  out  before  their  eyes.  Armstrong 
looked  back  and  saw  the  Via  della  Piazzola  behind  him. 
Then  his  glance  turned  to  the  steep  hill  in  front.  In  a 
flood  of  memory  came  back  to  him  the  details  of  the 
last  time  he  had  been  there — alone  with  Helen,  so  soon 
after  their  arrival  in  Florence. 

"  I  measure  everything  by  that  day  at  Fiesole,"  she 
had  said  to  him ;  "  I  believe  it  was  the  happiest  day  I 
ever  spent." 

How  long  ago  it  seemed  to  him,  and  how  much  had 
happened  since !  She  was  not  happy  now — she  had  told 
him  so  with  her  own  lips ;  she  had  even  been  forced  to 
acknowledge  it  to  Emory.  He  had  been  forgetful  of 
her  during  these  weeks  of  study ;  but  it  was  over  now, 
and  he  would  make  it  up  to  her.  When  she  saw  him 
back  in  his  old  semblance  again  her  pain  would  pass 
away,  her  happiness  return,  and  the  present  misunder 
standing  be  forgotten. 

His  thoughts  of  Helen  reminded  him  of  his  intention 
to  return  to  the  villa  in  time  for  luncheon,  after  which 
he  would  tell  her  how  deeply  he  regretted  all  that  had 
happened. 

"  Turn  around,  Alfonse,"  he  said,  looking  at  his 
watch,  "  and  run  home  as  fast  as  you  can ;  we  have 
hardly  time  to  get  there." 

The  return  toward  Florence  was  quickly  made  in 
[247] 


THE    SPELL 


spite  of  the  sudden  bends  and  narrow  roads.  Turning 
sharply  at  Ponte  a  Mensola,  Alfonse  increased  his  speed 
as  they  approached  the  hill  leading  from  the  Piazza  of 
Settignano  to  the  villa. 

"  Careful  at  the  next  turn,  Alfonse ;  it's  a  nasty 
one,"  cautioned  Armstrong,  aware  that  his  instructions 
were  being  carried  out  too  literally. 

The  machine  was  nearer  to  the  corner  than  Alfonse 
realized.  He  saw  the  danger,  and  with  his  hand  upon 
the  emergency-brake  he  threw  his  weight  upon  the  wheel. 
Something  gave  way,  and  in  another  moment  the  car 
crashed  against  the  masonry  wall,  the  engine  made  a 
few  convulsive  revolutions,  and  then  lay  inert  and  help 
less. 

Inez  was  thrown  over  the  low  wall,  landing  without  in 
jury  in  the  cornfield  on  the  other  side.  Alfonse  jumped, 
and  found  himself  torn  and  bruised  upon  the  road,  with 
no  injuries  which  could  not  easily  be  mended.  But  Arm 
strong,  sitting  nearest  to  the  point  of  contact,  lay  amid 
the  wreckage  of  the  machine,  still  and  lifeless,  with  a 
gash  in  the  side  of  his  head,  showing  where  he  had 
struck  the  wall. 

By  the  time  Inez  had  found  an  opening  Alfonse  had 
gathered  himself  up,  and  together  they  lifted  Arm 
strong  on  to  the  grass  by  the  side  of  the  road.  Two 
frightened  women  and  a  boy  hurried  out  from  the  peas 
ant's  cottage  near  by,  the  women  wringing  their  hands, 
the  boy  stupefied  by  fear. 

"  Some  water,  quick !"  commanded  Inez ;  and  one  of 
the  women  hastened  to  obey. 

Wetting  her  handkerchief  and  kneeling  beside  the  still 
figure,  Inez  bathed  Armstrong's  face  and  washed  the 
blood  from  the  ugly  cut.  She  chafed  his  hands  and  felt 

[2481 


THE     SPELL 


his  pulse.  There  was  no  response,  and  she  turned  her 
ashen  face  to  the  women  watching  breathless  beside  her. 

"  He  is  dead,"  she  said,  in  an  almost  inarticulate  voice. 
The  women  crossed  themselves  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  May  we  take  him  in  there,"  she  asked,  pointing  to 
the  cottage,  "  while  the  chauffeur  brings  his  wife?" 

Between  them  the  body  was  gently  lifted  into  the  cot 
tage  and  laid  upon  the  bed  in  the  best  room.  Then 
Alfonse  set  out  upon  his  solemn  mission. 

"  Leave  me  with  him,"  Inez  begged  rather  than  com 
manded  the  woman  who  remained.  "  I  will  stay  with 
him  until  they  come." 

She  closed  the  door.  Leaning  against  it  for  support, 
with  her  hand  upon  the  latch,  she  gazed  at  the  inani 
mate  form  upon  the  bed.  The  necessity  of  action  had 
dulled  her  realization  of  the  horror,  and,  sinking  upon 
the  floor,  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  giving  way 
for  the  first  time  to  the  tears  which  until  now  had  been 
denied.  The  first  paroxysm  over,  she  raised  her  head 
and  looked  about  the  room.  Every  object  in  it  burned 
itself  into  her  mind:  the  straw  matting  on  the  floor,  the 
cheap  prints  upon  the  wall,  the  rough  cross  and  the 
crucified  Saviour  hanging  over  the  bed.  Dead — dead ! 

"  Oh,  God,"  she  murmured,  incoherently,  to  herself, 
"  is  this  to  be  the  solution  of  this  awful  problem — inex 
plicable  in  life,  unendurable  in  death !" 

Suddenly  she  rose  from  the  floor  and  stood  erect.  She 
looked  at  the  closed  door — then  turned  to  where  the 
body  lay.  She  rested  her  hand  upon  Armstrong's  fore 
head.  Then  sitting  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed  she  gently 
lifted  his  arm  and  grasped  his  hand  as  her  body  became 
convulsed  with  heart-breaking  sobs. 

"  Jack !"  she  cried,  covering  his  hands  with  kisses, 
[249] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Jack — speak  to  me !  Tell  me  that  you  are  not  dead," 
she  implored.  "  Oh  no,  no — that  cannot  be ;  you  are  too 
grand,  too  noble  to  die  like  this !" 

She  rose  and  stood  for  a  moment  looking  down  at  him. 

"  Dead !"  she  repeated,  piteously — "  dead !"  A  hectic 
glow  came  into  her  face.  "  Then  you  are  mine !"  she 
cried,  fiercely.  "  Jack,  my  beloved,  you  are  mine,  dear 
— do  you  hear? — and  I  am  yours.  Oh,  Jack,  how  I  have 
loved  you  all  these  weeks !  Now  I  can  tell  you  of  it, 
dear — it  will  do  no  harm  !" 

Again  she  sat  upon  the  bed  and  placed  her  hands 
upon  his  cheeks. 

"  My  darling,  my  beloved !"  she  whispered.  "  Open 
your  eyes  just  once  and  tell  me  that  I  may  call  you 
mine  if  only  for  this  one  terrible  moment.  This  is  our 
moment,  dear — no  one  can  take  it  from  us !  Have  you 
not  seen  how  I  have  loved  you,  how  I  have  struggled 
to  keep  you  from  knowing  it.  Jack,  Jack!  this  is  the 
beginning  and  the  end." 

The  room  seemed  to  spin  around,  and  before  her  eyes 
a  mist  gathered. 

"  I  am  dying,  too,  Jack,"  she  said,  frankly — "  thank 
God,  I  am  dying,  too." 

At  last  Nature  applied  her  saving  balm  to  the  strained 
nerves,  and  Inez'  sufferings  were  temporarily  assuaged 
by  that  sweet  insensibility  which  stands  between  the 
human  mind  and  madness.  So  Helen  found  her,  a  few 
moments  later,  when  pale  and  trembling  she  entered  the 
room. 


BOOK    III 
CO-PARTNER  WITH  NATURE 


XXIII 


HELEN  received  the  heart-breaking  news  from 
Alfonse  with  a  degree  of  control  which  surprised 
even  Uncle  Peabody.  Her  questions  were  few, 
but  so  vital  in  their  directness  that  by  the  time  she  had 
learned  the  nature  and  the  seriousness  of  the  accident, 
and  the  location  of  the  cottage  where  her  husband's 
body  lay,  she  was  hurrying  to  the  scene  of  the  calamity. 

"  Do  you  know  where  to  reach  an  American  or  Eng 
lish  surgeon?"  she  promptly  asked  Uncle  Peabody,  and 
his  affirmative  reply  as  he  hastened  to  the  telephone  was 
the  last  word  she  heard  as  she  left  the  villa. 

Once  in  the  cottage,  she  followed  the  guidance  of  the 
weeping,  awe-struck  peasants,  who  silently  pointed  out 
to  her  the  room  of  death.  She  opened  the  door,  and 
crossed  the  room  with  a  firm  step.  Sinking  to  her  knees 
beside  the  bed,  she  buried  her  face  for  a  brief  moment  in 
her  hands — then  she  rose  quickly  to  her  feet.  With 
the  help  of  the  woman  who  had  entered  with  her,  she 
lifted  Inez'  inert  figure  from  across  her  husband's  body. 

"  She  has  fainted,  poor  child !"  she  said,  quietly, 
divining  that  the  girl's  insensibility  was  not  serious. 
"  Let  us  take  her  into  the  next  room." 

Leaving  the  woman  to  provide  for  Inez'  necessities, 
and  giving  her  instructions  how  to  act,  Helen  turned 
from  the  improvised  cot  to  go  back  to  Jack.  His  hands 

[253] 


THE     SPELL 


were  still  warm,  but  she  could  find  no  perceptible  pulsa 
tion.  She  loosened  his  collar  and  moved  his  head  a  lit 
tle  to  one  side,  discovering  the  wound  for  the  first  time. 
A  cry  of  pain  burst  from  her  as  she  drew  back  sick  and 
dizzy,  her  lips  quivering  and  tears  starting  to  her  eyes. 
Then  she  leaned  over  him  again,  gently  washing  away 
the  slight  flow  of  blood  with  a  moist  cloth  which  one 
of  the  women  handed  her. 

"  Look !"  she  cried,  pathetically,  to  Uncle  Peabody, 
who  entered  the  room  a  moment  later,  pointing  to  the 
wound  and  gazing  into  his  eyes  with  her  own  distended 
by  her  suffering  and  her  sense  of  helplessness. 

Uncle  Peabody  put  his  arm  about  her,  and  rested  his 
other  hand  upon  Armstrong's  wrist.  "  Dr.  Montgomery 
will  be  here  in  a  moment,  Helen,"  he  said,  quietly,  feel 
ing  instinctively  that  this  was  no  time  for  words  of  sym 
pathy.  "  I  caught  him  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  and  there 
was  a  motor-car  at  the  door." 

"  He  is  dead !"  was  Helen's  response,  piteous  in  its 
intensity. 

"  Perhaps  not,  dear,"  replied  Uncle  Peabody,  sooth 
ingly.  "  Let  us  stand  by  the  window  until  the  doctor 
comes." 

Helen  refused  to  suffer  herself  to  be  led  away  from 
her  husband's  side. 

"  I  can't,"  she  said,  simply,  shaking  her  head ;  "  I 
must  watch  over  him." 

Then  she  turned  back  to  resume  her  self-appointed 
vigil,  and  suddenly  found  herself  looking  into  his  open 
eyes. 

"Jack !"  she  cried,  seizing  his  face  in  her  hands  as  she 
again  sank  upon  her  knees — "  oh,  Jack !" 

She  could  find  no  other  words  in  the  revulsion  which 
[254] 


THE    SPELL 


swept  over  her.  Her  cry  quickly  brought  Uncle  Pea- 
body,  and  the  women  drew  near  to  behold  the  miracle 
of  the  dead  brought  to  life;  but  all  except  Helen  fell 
back  as  the  doctor  entered. 

"  Pie  lives,  doctor !"  she  exclaimed  exultantly,  her  face 
radiant  with  joy. 

"  Then  there  is  hope,"  he  replied,  with  a  reassuring 
smile,  as  he  began  the  examination  of  his  patient. 

Helen  followed  every  motion  as  the  doctor  proceeded, 
encouraged  by  the  confidential  little  nods  he  made  at 
the  conclusion  of  each  process,  as  if  answering  in  the 
affirmative  certain  questions  which  he  put  to  himself. 
Armstrong  again  opened  his  eyes  as  the  doctor  carefully 
investigated  the  depth  of  the  wound,  and  his  lips  moved 
slightly.  Helen  impulsively  drew  nearer,  but  the  sound 
was  barely  articulate. 

The  doctor  drew  back  the  lids  and  peered  intently 
into  his  open  eyes,  nodding  again  to  himself.  At  length 
he  turned  to  the  silent  group  about  him,  who  so  eagerly 
waited  for  the  verdict. 

"  Will  he  live  ?"  was  Helen's  tense  question  as  she 
seized  his  arm. 

Dr.  Montgomery  looked  into  the  upturned  face  with 
a  kindly  smile.  "  I  hope  so,  Mrs.  Armstrong,"  he  an 
swered,  quietly.  "  It  is  a  severe  concussion  of  the  brain, 
and  we  must  await  developments." 

"  Are  there  unfavorable  signs  ?"  asked  Uncle  Pea- 
body,  anxiously. 

"  No ;  quite  the  contrary  so  far.  There  is  no  fracture 
of  the  skull,  and  the  normal  size  of  the  pupils  shows  no 
serious  injury  to  the  brain." 

"  The  unconsciousness  is  due  simply  to  the  concus 
sion  ?" 

[  255  ] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Exactly." 

"  Then  what  do  you  fear?" 

"  There  is  always  danger  of  meningitis.  We  can  tell 
nothing  about  this  until  later." 

"  Will  it  be  safe  to  move  him  ?"  asked  Helen. 

"  Yes ;  and  you  had  better  do  so.  I  must  dress  and 
sew  up  the  wound,  and  then  he  can  be  carried  home  on 
a  stretcher.  Suppose  you  leave  me  alone  with  him  now, 
while  I  make  his  head  a  bit  more  presentable." 

Helen's  buoyancy  was  contagious  as  she  and  Uncle 
Peabody  started  to  leave  the  room,  but  Jack's  voice  re 
called  them. 

"  It  is — the  symbolism — of  the  period,"  he  muttered, 
incoherently. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  the  doctor  replied  to  Helen's  startled, 
unspoken  interrogation.  "  He  is  delirious,  and  will  be 
so  for  days." 

Satisfied  with  the  explanation,  they  passed  through 
the  door  into  the  next  room,  where  they  found  Inez 
sitting  weakly  in  an  arm-chair,  her  hair  dishevelled,  her 
face  white  as  marble,  supported  by  the  woman  in  whose 
care  she  had  been  left. 

Helen  hurried  to  her.  "  He  is  not  dead !"  she  cried, 
joyfully — "do  you  hear,  Inez?  Jack  is  alive,  and  the 
doctor  thinks  he  will  recover!" 

Inez  answered  with  a  fresh  flood  of  tears.  "  Oh, 
Helen !  Helen !"  she  murmured,  clinging  impulsively  to 
her  arm. 

Helen's  recovery  came  much  more  spontaneously  than 
did  Inez'.  With  the  one  the  pendulum  had  made  a 
completed  swing,  and  the  depths  at  one  extreme  had 
been  offset  by  the  heights  at  the  other.  Inez,  however, 
was  hopelessly  distraught  by  the  accumulated  weight 

[256] 


THE    SPELL 


of  a  multitude  of  emotions:  the  physical  shock  of  the 
accident,  the  horror  of  the  situation  as  it  first  burst  upon 
her  with  unmitigated  force,  the  involuntary  tearing 
from  her  heart  of  the  mask  it  had  worn  for  so  many 
months — and  now  the  painful  joy  of  the  reaction.  She 
rested  in  her  chair,  almost  an  inert  mass,  in  total  col 
lapse  of  mind  and  body. 

"  I  could  not  help  it,  Helen,"  she  murmured,  piteous- 
ly,  as  her  friend  pushed  back  the  dishevelled  hair  from 
her  hot  forehead. 

"  Of  course  you  could  not,  dear,"  Plelen  cried,  smiling 
through  her  tears  of  joy  at  the  obvious  relief  her  words 
gave.  "  Oh,  I  am  so  happy,  Inez !" 

Helen's  face  grew  pale  again  as  her  thoughts  returned 
to  those  first  awful  moments,  which  now  seemed  so  long 
ago.  "  I  really  thought  him  dead,  Inez,"  she  continued, 
after  a  moment's  silence.  "  We  could  not  have  endured 
that,  could  we,  dear?  Now  we  will  take  him  to  the 
villa  and  nurse  him  back  to  health  and  strength.  How 
strange  it  will  seem  to  him  not  to  be  able  to  do  things 
for  himself !" 

"  Is  he — badly  hurt  ?"  ventured  Inez. 

"  The  doctor  can't  tell  yet,  but  he  feels  encouraged." 

"  Is  he — conscious  ?" 

"  Not  wholly — and  the  doctor  says  he  will  be  delirious 
for  days." 

"  Oh,"  replied  Inez,  again  relaxing. 

Dr.  Montgomery  quietly  entered  the  room,  carefully 
closing  the  door  after  him.  "  All  goes  well,"  he  replied 
to  the  questions  before  they  were  put  to  him.  "  The 
patient  is  resting  quietly  and  may  be  moved  as  soon  as 
a  stretcher  can  be  secured.  Your  villa  is  near  by,  I 
think  Mr.  Cartwright  said?" 
17  [  257  ] 


"  The  stretcher  is  being  prepared,"  replied  Uncle 
Peabody,  answering  the  doctor's  question,  "  and  I  have 
sent  for  two  strong  men." 

"Good.  Have  I  another  patient  here?"  Dr.  Mont 
gomery  turned  to  Inez. 

"  She  is  suffering  only  from  the  shock,"  answered 
Helen. 

"  Let  me  take  you  both  home  in  my  motor-car,"  sug 
gested  the  doctor. 

"  Take  Miss  Thayer,"  Helen  replied,  quickly. 

"  Oh  no !"  Inez  shuddered ;  "  I  can  never  enter  one 
of  those  awful  things  again !" 

Dr.  Montgomery  smiled  indulgently.  "  It  will  really 
be  better,  Miss  Thayer,  and  I  will  personally  guarantee 
your  safe  arrival." 

"  I  would  rather  walk  beside  the  stretcher,"  Helen 
continued ;  "  there  might  be  something  I  could  do." 

The  doctor  bowed  as  he  acquiesced.  "  Your  husband 
will  require  very  little  to  be  done  for  him  for  some  days, 
Mrs.  Armstrong,"  he  said ;  "  but  if  you  prefer  to  stay 
near  him  your  suggestion  is  better  than  mine." 

"  Did  he  speak  again,  doctor?"  asked  Helen. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  with  a  professional  shrug ;  "  but 
he  said  nothing.  You  must  pay  no  attention  to  his 
ramblings.  His  mind  will  remain  a  blank  until  Nature 
supplies  the  connecting  link.  In  the  mean  time  he  will 
require  simply  quiet  and  rest." 

Uncle  Pcabody's  stretcher  was  soon  ready  for  service, 
and  the  still  unconscious  burden  was  gently  lifted  upon 
it  and  carried  with  utmost  tenderness  up  the  hill  to  the 
villa,  where  old  Giuseppe  and  the  maids  received  the 
party  with  unaffected  joy  at  the  good  news  that  their 
master  would  survive  the  accident  that  had  befallen 

[258] 


THE    SPELL 


him.  With  the  aid  of  the  trained  nurse  they  found 
awaiting  them,  Armstrong  was  carefully  transferred 
from  the  stretcher  to  his  own  bed,  Inez  was  made  com 
fortable  in  her  room,  and  the  doctor  sat  down  upon  the 
veranda  with  Helen  and  Uncle  Peabody,  who  welcomed 
a  moment's  rest  after  the  wearing  experience  of  the 
past  hour. 

"  Tell  us  the  probabilities  of  the  case,  Dr.  Mont 
gomery,"  said  Uncle  Peabody.  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Arm 
strong  were  planning  to  return  to  Boston  soon,  and 
now  it  will  of  course  be  necessary  to  rearrange  their 
plans." 

"  Naturally,"  assented  the  doctor.  "  I  will  tell  you 
all  I  can.  These  cases  are  somewhat  uncertain,  but 
the  patient's  delirium  will  surely  last  for  several  days. 
Then  conies  a  slow  period  of  convalescence,  during  which 
time  the  body  repairs  much  more  rapidly  than  the  mind. 
You  cannot  count  on  less  than  two  months,  even  with 
everything  progressing  favorably." 

Uncle  Peabody  glanced  over  to  where  Helen  was 
sitting. 

"  I  don't  care  how  long  it  takes,"  she  replied  to  his 
implied  interrogation,  "  so  long  as  he  gets  well." 

Dr.  Montgomery  smiled  as  he  rose  to  take  his  leave. 
"  My  patient  is  evidently  in  good  hands,"  he  said. 
"  The  nurse  will  do  all  that  needs  to  be  done  until  I 
return  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  two." 

Helen  and  Uncle  Peabody  sat  in  silence  for  some  mo 
ments  after  the  doctor  departed.  There  was  nothing 
further  to  be  done  for  the  present,  as  both  Jack  and 
Inez  were  resting  as  comfortably  as  could  be  expected 
under  the  circumstances,  and  absolute  quiet  was  the 
one  thing  needful. 

[259] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Well,"  said  Uncle  Peabody,  at  length,  "  it  is  the  un 
expected  which  has  happened  again." 

"  Yes,"  Helen  assented  without  looking  up ;  "  if  it 
keeps  on  happening  with  such  startling  regularity  I 
shall  begin  to  expect  it,  and  then  your  theory  will  lose 
its  point." 

Uncle  Fcabody  was  in  a  thoughtful  rather  than  an 
argumentative  mood. 

"  If  I  was  not  afraid  you  would  think  me  heartless, 
Helen,  I  would  say  that  I  believe  I  see  the  hand  of 
Providence  in  this." 

She  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Of  course,  assuming  that  Jack  recovers,"  he  hast 
ened  to  add. 

"  I  am  afraid  my  philosophy  is  hardly  equal  to  this 
test,"  Helen  replied,  unsympathetically.  "  I  am  su 
premely  happy  that  the  affair  is  not  so  serious  as  it 
seemed  at  first,  but  I  can't  sec  anything  particularly 
providential  in  the  injury  poor  Jack  has  sustained,  nor 
in  the  suffering  he  must  pass  through  at  best." 

"  Is  it  not  just  possible  that  this  long  period  of  con 
valescence,  which  Dr.  Montgomery  says  is  inevitable, 
may  bring  him  to  himself  again?" 

Helen  smiled  sadly.  "  It  was  the  work  at  the  library 
which  brought  him  to  himself,  uncle.  A  separation  from 
those  influences  which  so  strongly  affected  him  there 
may  result  in  a  return  to  the  old  self  I  knew  before  we 
came  here ;  but  that  is  not  his  real  self." 

"  If  he  returns  to  that  condition,  no  matter  what 
brings  it  about,  will  it  not  simplify  matters?" 

"  I  can't  see  how,"  replied  Helen,  seriously.  "  If  I 
had  never  known  this  new  development  in  Jack's  nature, 
I  should  of  course  be  quite  content  to  have  him  return 

f260] 


THE    SPELL 


to  his  former  self;  but  having  seen  him  as  he  really  is, 
I  could  never  accept  any  condition  which  allows  him  no 
development  of  his  higher  and  stronger  personality.  It 
would  not  be  fair  either  to  him  or  to  me." 

Uncle  Peabody  regarded  Helen  curiously.  "  Let  me 
make  myself  clearer,"  he  said,  with  considerable  em 
phasis.  "  Only  this  very  morning  you  were  discussing 
with  me  the  final  outcome  of  what  appeared  to  be  a 
domestic  tragedy.  Your  husband  was  controlled  by  the 
spell  of  the  old-time  learning  which  had  reached  out 
from  its  antiquity  to  grasp  a  modern  convert.  You 
were  convinced  that  Miss  Thayer's  sentiments  toward 
your  husband  had  developed  into  affection,  and  you 
stated  in  so  many  words  that  if  Jack  did  not  reciprocate 
this  affection  he  really  ought  to  do  so,  because  she  was 
the  one  woman  in  the  world  qualified  by  nature  to  be  his 
wife.  In  the  presence  of  this  overwhelming  condition 
you  very  generously  planned — and  I  expressed  to  you 
how  much  I  admired  your  spirit — to  eliminate  yourself, 
and  to  sacrifice  your  own  happiness  in  order  to  enable 
your  husband  to  accomplish  his  destiny." 

"  You  are  making  sport  of  me — it  is  most  unkind !" 
she  cried,  reproachfully. 

"  You  know  I  wouldn't  do  that,"  insisted  Uncle  Pea- 
body.  "  I  am  merely  presenting  a  simple  statement  of 
the  case  in  order  to  prove  my  original  assertion.  Please 
let  me  continue.  Just  as  the  crisis  seems  to  be  at  hand 
this  accident  occurs.  In  a  most  unexpected  manner 
Jack  is  instantly  divorced  from  the  influences  which 
have  drawn  him  away  from  you.  The  break  between 
him  and  Miss  Thaycr  has  been  accomplished  naturahV, 
and  he  has  been  placed  in  his  wife's  hands  to  be  nursed 
back  to  health — during  which  experience  you  both  will 

[261] 


come  to  know  each  other  far  better  than  ever  before. 
Again  I  say — I  believe  I  see  the  hand  of  Providence  in 
the  whole  affair." 

Helen  waited  to  make  quite  sure  that  Uncle  Peabody 
had  finished.  "  I  wonder  if  it  is  I  who  always  see  things 
differently,"  she  said,  "  or  if  a  man's  viewpoint  is  of 
necessity  different  from  a  woman's.  I  love  Jack  more 
than  I  can  ever  express — and  this  accident  has  brought 
that  devotion  nearer  to  the  surface  than  I  have  dared  to 
let  it  come  for  many  weeks.  I  have  suffered  in  seeing 
him  drawn  away  from  me,  and  in  realizing  that  I  was 
becoming  less  and  less  essential  to  his  life.  Yet,  through 
it  all,  I  have  understood.  I  have  suffered  to  think 
that  any  other  woman  could  be  more  to  him  than  I  am, 
but  my  love  has  not  blinded  my  eyes  to  what  I  have 
actually  seen.  These  are  conditions  which  cannot  be 
changed,  even  by  this  accident.  Suppose  it  does  sepa 
rate  him  from  all  those  influences  which  have  brought 
about  the  crisis,  as  you  call  it ;  suppose  that  because  of 
this  separation,  and  the  physical  weakness  through  which 
he  must  pass,  Jack  turns  to  me  as  before,  and  for  the 
time  being  believes  that  I  am  more  to  him  than  all  else 
in  the  world  —  will  this  change  the  conditions  them 
selves  ?" 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  would  not  accept  this  change 
in  him?" 

"  I  mean  that  I  would  not  take  advantage  of  it," 
replied  Helen,  firmly.  "  I  have  seen  the  development 
which  has  taken  place  in  Jack  from  the  moment  of  our 
first  meeting  down  to  the  present  time.  Even  with  the 
sorrow  it  has  cost  me  I  admire  that  development.  Had 
I  possessed  equal  possibilities,  all  would  have  been  well. 

As  I  did  not,  it  would  be  the  act  not  of  love  but  of 

[262] 


THE     SPELL 


tyranny  to  stand  between  him  and  his  grander 
potentiality." 

"  But  suppose  that  as  Jack  recovers  he  comes  to  a 
realization  that  his  obsession  has  been  a  mistake — that 
your  love  and  companionship  really  mean  more  to  him 
than  anything  he  can  get  elsewhere?" 

"  That  would  be  a  retrogression,  after  what  I  have 
seen  him  pass  through.  As  I  just  said,  if  I  possessed 
the  ability  to  rise  to  him,  what  you  suggest  might  be 
a  possibility ;  but  I  would  never  consent  to  have  him 
assume  a  lower  plane  than  that  upon  which  he  belongs 
simply  that  I  may  retain  my  claim." 

Helen  rose  as  she  spoke  and  walked  slowly  down  the 
veranda.  Uncle  Peabody  watched  her  retreating  figure, 
and  studied  her  face  as  she  returned  and  leaned  against 
one  of  the  pillars  in  silence. 

"  Why  do  you  think  it  would  force  him  to  take  a  lower 
plane?"  he  asked,  pointedly. 

Helen  turned  abruptly  and  looked  at  him  with  an  ex 
pression  of  frank  surprise.  "  Why  do  I  think  so?"  she 
repeated.  "  What  a  foolish  question  !" 

"  Still,  I  ask  you  for  an  answer,"  Uncle  Peabody  in 
sisted. 

"  Because  he  is  so  far  ahead  of  me  in  every  way," 
Helen  answered,  simply. 

"  Suppose  this  is  not  true?" 

"  But  it  is." 

"  Why  are  you  so  positive?" 

"  Because  it  is  quite  apparent  to  every  one — to  Jack, 
to  Cerini,  and  even  to  myself." 

Uncle  Peabody  rose  and  stood  beside  her,  taking  her 
face  between  his  hands  and  looking  kindly  into  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  not  so  far  behind  him  as  you  think,"  he 
[263] 


THE    SPELL 


said,  firmly.  "  Whatever  the  distance  between  you  may 
have  been  when  you  were  first  married,  the  trials  I  have 
seen  you  endure  have  wrought  changes  at  least  as  great 
as  those  you  have  noticed  in  Jack.  You  are  a  brave, 
strong  woman,  Helen,  and  your  development  has  been 
from  within  outward.  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much  for 
him." 

"  You  are  trying  to  give  me  courage,  you  dear  old 
comforter,"  Helen  replied,  unconvinced  but  with  a  grate 
ful  smile. 

"  I  am  trying  to  show  you  yourself  as  you  really  are, 
my  child,"  Uncle  Peabody  replied,  "  and  to  help  you  to 
recognize  an  act  of  Providence  when  one  falls  your  way." 


XXIV 


DR.  MONTGOMERY'S  approximate  estimate  of 
the  duration  of  Armstrong's  delirium  proved  to 
be  only  a  few  days  shorter  than  the  actual  fact. 
In  less  than  a  week  all  anxiety  regarding  any  possible 
complications  was  set  at  rest  by  the  doctor's  report  that 
his  patient  was  progressing  normally  and  as  well  as 
could  be  expected.  The  skull  had  sustained  no  injury, 
and  the  brain  suffered  only  from  the  concussion.  The 
household  became  accustomed  to  the  still  figure,  which 
gave  evidence  of  its  returning  strength  only  by  the  in 
creasing  frequency  of  incoherent  ramblings,  the  voice 
developing  in  firmness  as  the  days  progressed. 

Inez  was  about  again  by  this  time,  and  with  sunken 
eyes  and  ashen  face  shared  with  Helen  the  privilege  of 
watching  beside  the  patient  during  the  last  week  of  his 
unconsciousness.  But  it  was  a  different  Inez  from  the 
serious  but  happy  and  alert  girl  who  had  sat  beside 
Armstrong  in  the  automobile  when  it  had  crashed  against 
the  wall.  The  burden  of  bearing  her  secret  alone,  dur 
ing  all  these  weeks,  had  been  in  itself  a  wearing  experi 
ence,  but  this  was  as  nothing  compared  with  the  agony 
of  soul  through  which  she  had  since  passed.  The  very 
struggle  with  herself,  and  the  sense  of  personal  sacrifice 
she  experienced,  had  previously  served  in  her  own  mind 
to  sanctify  her  affection  and  to  justify  its  existence. 

[265] 


THE    SPELL 


Now  that  she  had  allowed  her  passion  to  burst  from  her 
control,  all  justification  was  ab  an  end.  Her  womanhood 
and  sense  of  right  seemed  to  separate  themselves  from 
her  weaker  emotions,  and  to  judge  and  condemn  them 
without  mitigation. 

It  was  natural  that  Helen  should  attribute  her  changed 
condition  to  the  horror  of  the  accident  itself ;  yet  Inez 
knew  that  the  scene  which  was  enacted  in  her  mind  over 
and  over  again  until  it  almost  drove  her  mad  was  that 
of  her  own  shameless  disloyalty.  She  shuddered  as  it 
returned  to  her  even  now  while  sitting  beside  Arm 
strong's  bed;  she  shrank  from  Helen's  sympathetic  ca 
ress  and  her  thoughtful  solicitude.  If  she  could  only 
cry  out  and  proclaim  to  them  all  the  unworthy  part 
she  had  performed,  she  would  feel  some  sense  of  relief 
in  the  self-abasement  it  must  bring  to  her. 

Armstrong's  delirious  wanderings  were  a  sore  trial 
to  Inez,  but  she  accepted  and  bore  them  with  the  un 
flinching  courage  of  an  ascetic.  The  sound  of  his  voice, 
the  undirected,  expressionless  gaze  of  his  eyes,  the  un 
certainty  of  what  each  disconnected  sentence  might  call 
to  mind — all  drove  fresh  barbs  into  a  soul  already  tort 
ured  by  self-condemnation.  At  first  his  mind  had 
seemed  to  center  itself  upon  his  wife  and  his  enforced 
separation  from  her. 

"  When  it  is  finished,"  he  had  murmured,  tossing  from 
side  to  side  and  finally  raising  his  hand  as  if  reaching 
out  to  some  one — "  when  it  is  finished  she  will  under 
stand." 

"  She  does  understand,  dear,"  Helen  had  cried  out, 
seizing  his  hand  and  pressing  it  to  her  lips;  but  in 
stantly  he  withdrew  it,  and  his  words  again  became  in 
coherent  and  meaningless. 

[  266  ] 


THE    SPELL 


At  another  time,  when  both  Helen  and  Inez  were  sit 
ting  near  by,  his  eyes  opened,  and  he  seemed  to  be  look 
ing  directly  at  his  wife. 

"  She  refuses  to  continue  the  work,  Helen,"  he  said, 
as  she  sprang  to  his  side,  believing  that  at  last  his  mind 
had  cleared—"  you  were  quite  wrong,  do  you  not  see?" 

Helen  looked  at  Inez  quickly,  noting  the  swift  color 
which  suffused  her  pale  face,  but  before  a  word  coukl 
be  spoken  the  invalid  had  relapsed  into  his  former  con 
dition.  Inez  made  an  excuse  to  escape  from  the  room 
for  a  moment.  "  You  were  quite  wrong — do  you  not 
see?"  she  repeated  Armstrong's  words  to  herself.  Was 
he  simply  rambling,  or  had  the  subject  been  brought 
up  for  previous  discussion?  Inez'  conscience,  sensitive 
from  the  load  already  resting  upon  it,  quivered  with  new 
apprehensiveness.  Yet  Helen's  attitude  toward  her  had 
in  no  way  changed — in  fact,  the  awful  anxiety  of  the 
first  suspense,  together  with  the  later  mutual  respon 
sibilities  which  they  had  shared,  had  seemed  to  Inez  to 
draw  them  even  more  closely  to  each  other.  She  tried 
to  gain  an  answer  to  her  inward  questionings  from 
Helen's  face  as  she  re  -  entered  the  room,  but  found 
there  nothing  but  cordiality  and  friendliness. 

"  He  must  be  getting  nearer  and  nearer  to  a  return 
of  consciousness,"  Helen  had  said,  quite  naturally ;  "  but 
how  he  wanders !"  She  looked  over  affectionately  to  her 
husband,  still  and  helpless,  but  breathing  with  the  steady 
regularity  of  convalescence.  "  Sometimes  it  is  about 
his  work  at  the  library  —  sometimes  it  is  about  me. 
What  agony  of  spirit  he  must  be  passing  through  if 
he  realizes  any  of  it !" 

"  He  loves  you,  Helen,"  Inez  cried,  impulsively — "  he 
loves  you  now,  just  as  he  always  has!" 

[267] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Of  course."  Helen  looked  up  questioningly  from 
her  fancy  work.  She  was  not  37et  ready  to  take  Inez 
into  her  confidence.  "  What  a  strange  remark,  dear ! 
Is  it  not  quite  natural  that  my  husband  should  love 
me?" 

Helen's  smiling  face,  as  she  asked  her  simple  but 
disconcerting  question,  completely  unnerved  Inez. 

"  He  has  been  so  worried  about  the  time  which  his 
work  compelled  him  to  be  away  from  you,"  Inez  re 
plied,  at  length,  trying  to  conceal  her  confusion.  "  He 
finished  the  first  draft  of  the  book  the  day  of  the  ac 
cident.  His  first  thought,  after  he  put  down  his  pen, 
was  to  return  to  the  villa,  that  he  might  surprise  you  at 
lunch." 

"  Cerini !"  called  Armstrong. 

Helen  placed  her  hand  upon  his  forehead  soothingly. 

"  I  owe  it  to  my  wife —  "  the  invalid  continued ;  "  but 
I  shall  come  back — come  back." 

"  Yes,  dear,  you  shall  go  back,"  she  answered,  quiet 
ly,  resting  her  cheek  against  his — "  you  shall  go 
back." 

"  When  it  is  finished —  "  Armstrong  murmured,  again 
subsiding  into  silence. 

So  the  days  passed,  one  by  one,  differing  little,  each 
from  the  other,  yet  filled  with  many  and  conflicting  emo 
tions  on  the  part  of  the  faithful  watcher  by  the  bed 
side.  With  all  its  pain,  Helen  welcomed  this  period 
during  which  she  could  work  out  her  problem  with  the 
unconscious  help  of  the  rambling,  disconnected  sentences 
which  escaped  from  her  husband's  lips.  Sometimes  they 
were  full  of  tenderness  for  her;  again  they  were  re 
proaches,  levelled  at  himself  for  his  neglect;  but  most 
frequently  they  made  reference  to  his  work  in  some  of 

[268] 


THE    SPELL, 


its  various  stages.  Alternately  her  heart  was  touched 
by  his  apparent  affection  for  her,  and  the  wound  again 
torn  open  by  his  appeal  to  or  dependence  upon  Inez. 
But  through  it  all  came  the  one  conviction,  which  needed 
but  this  strengthening  reassurance  to  make  her  deter 
mined  path  seem  certain — that  whatever  drew  him  away 
from  his  work  and  back  to  her  was  a  sense  of  duty,  and 
that  alone. 

Helen  questioned  Dr.  Montgomery  upon  the  ordinary 
phenomena  in  cases  such  as  this. 

"  His  mutterings  may  be  absolutely  meaningless,"  he 
replied  to  her  questions,  "  or  they  may  be  thoughts  or 
actual  repetitions  of  conversations  which  he  has  previous 
ly  had." 

"  In  the  latter  case,  would  he  be  likely  to  repeat  them 
correctly  ?" 

"  Yes,  provided  he  repeats  them  at  all." 

"  And  these  thoughts  or  conversations,  if  correctly 
repeated,  would  presumably  indicate  his  convictions  at 
the  time  they  occurred  ?" 

"  His  convictions  at  the  time  they  occurred,"  Dr. 
Montgomery  assented ;  "  but  their  reliability  as  normal 
expressions  would  depend  upon  his  mental  condition 
at  the  time  the  thoughts  occurred  or  the  words  were 
spoken." 

Armstrong's  recovery  came  unexpectedly,  even  after 
the  long  days  of  waiting.  The  perfect  July  day  was 
drawing  to  a  close,  and  Helen  had  watched  the  sinking 
sun  from  the  window  beside  his  bed.  It  was  all  so  beau 
tiful  !  The  world  seemed  full  of  glorious  hopefulness 
and  promise,  and  her  heart  filled  to  overflowing  at  the 
thought  that  for  her,  who  loved  it  so,  that  promise  no 
longer  held  good.  She  turned  to  the  silent  figure  lying 

[269] 


THE    SPELL 


upon  the  bed.  Would  he  ever  realize  what  she  had  gone 
through  and  must  still  endure  for  him?  She  sank  upon 
her  knees,  burying  her  face  in  the  counterpane,  as  if  to 
shut  out  the  overpowering  grandeur,  which  produced  so 
sad  a  contrast.  Suddenly  she  felt  a  hand  resting  upon 
her  head,  and  a  voice  spoke  her  name. 

She  looked  up  quickly  straight  into  her  husband's 
eyes,  now  wide  open  and  filled  with  an  expression  so  full 
of  love  and  devotion  that  her  heart  sprang  forth  in  eager 
response.  It  was  the  expression  which  his  face  had  worn 
when  she  had  first  confessed  her  love  for  him,  and  the 
intervening  months,  with  their  brief  joy  and  their  long 
sorrow,  were  obliterated  on  the  instant.  Once  more  he 
was  the  devoted,  thoughtful,  irresistible  lover,  and  Helen 
felt  the  weight  of  }Tears  roll  off  her  tired  shoulders,  leav 
ing  her  the  happy,  buoyant  girl,  proud  of  having  won 
this  strong  man's  affection.  She  gazed  at  him  silently, 
fearing  lest  the  eyes  close  again,  and  unwilling  to  lose 
a  moment  of  their  present  significance ;  but  they  re 
mained  open. 

"  Helen,"  Armstrong  repeated,  still  looking  intently 
at  her,  "  be  patient,  dear.  I  know  how  shamefully  I 
have  neglected  you,  I  know  how  much  I  have  hurt  you ; 
but  my  work  is  nearly  finished  now.  Then,  believe  me, 
all  will  be  as  before." 

The  voice  was  calm  and  sustained.  There  was  no 
hesitation,  no  rambling.  Still,  she  did  not  fully  com 
prehend  that  he  was  himself  again. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  she  replied,  humoring  him ;  "  then  all 
will  be  as  before." 

He  could  not  see  the  sharp  pain  which  showed  in  her 
face  as  she  spoke,  nor  did  he  realize  how  her  heart  wished 

that  it  might  be  so. 

[270] 


THE    SPELL 


"  I  must  get  up,"  he  continued,  after  a  moment's 
silence.  "  What  time  is  it  ?  I  shall  be  late  at  the 
library." 

"  You  have  finished  your  work  for  to-day,  Jack,"  she 
answered,  quietly. 

"  Have  I  ?"  he  asked,  simply. 

His  glance  slowly  wandered  about  the  room.  "  Is  it 
not  morning?"  he  queried,  at  length. 

"  It  is  afternoon,"  she  replied,  turning  toward  the 
window.  "See  —  the  sun  is  just  sinking  behind  San 
Miniato." 

"  Afternoon?"  he  queried,  vaguely — "  afternoon,  and 
I  still  in  bed?" 

"  You  have  not  been  well,"  she  volunteered,  guarded 
ly,  carefully  following  the  doctor's  injunctions.  "  Don't 
bother  now ;  you  will  be  feeling  much  better  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"  Not  well?"  Armstrong's  mind  was  groping  around 
for  some  familiar  landmark  upon  which  to  fasten.  "  I 
was  at  the  library — was  it  this  morning? — Cerini  was 
there,  Miss  Thayer  was  there — where  is  Miss  Thayer?" 

"  She  went  out  only  a  moment  ago.  But  don't  try 
to  think  about  it  now.  It  will  be  much  better  for  you 
to  do  that  later." 

He  weakly  acquiesced  and  closed  his  eyes,  still  hold 
ing  her  hand  firmly  grasped  in  his  own.  The  doctor 
found  him  gently  sleeping,  with  Helen  watching  pa 
tiently  beside  him,  when  he  entered  the  room  an  hour 
later. 

She  held  up  her  disengaged  hand  warningly.  "  He 
is  himself  again,"  she  whispered. 

"  Good !"  replied  Dr.  Montgomery,  with  satisfaction. 
"  Tell  me  about  it." 

[271] 


THE    SPELL 


"  That  is  splendid,"  he  said,  when  she  had  recounted 
the  details ;  "  he  is  progressing  famously.  You  won't 
be  able  to  keep  him  from  questioning,  but  try  to  let 
the  awakening  come  as  gradually  as  possible." 

The  morning  brought  renewed  strength  to  the  invalid. 
The  nurse  called  Helen  as  soon  as  Armstrong  wakened, 
and  he  plied  her  with  countless  interrogations.  Uncle 
Peabody  came  in  to  see  him  immediately  after  a  light 
breakfast  had  been  served,  but  Inez,  upon  one  pretext 
or  another,  delayed  entering  the  sick-room. 

"  It  will  be  better  for  him  to  become  accustomed  to 
his  new  conditions,"  she  urged,  when  Helen  suggested 
her  going  to  see  him.  "  You  and  Mr.  Cartwright  should 
have  these  first  moments  with  him.  Later  I  shall  be 
only  too  glad  to  help  in  any  way  I  can." 

But  Armstrong  himself  was  not  to  be  denied. 

"  There  is  more  to  all  this  than  you  are  telling  me," 
he  said,  petulantly,  at  last,  after  learning  from  Helen 
and  Uncle  Peabody  such  details  as  he  could  draw  forth 
regarding  the  duration  of  his  illness  and  its  general 
nature.  "  I  remember  now  leaving  the  library  in  the 
motor-car  with  Miss  Thayer.  We  went — where  did  we 
go?  Oh  yes;  to  San  Domenico.  Then  we  came  home. 
Did  we  come  home?"  he  asked,  with  uncertainty  in  his 
voice;  but  before  an  answer  could  be  given  he  had  him 
self  supplied  the  connecting  link. 

"  I  have  it !"  he  cried,  raising  himself  upon  his  elbow 
— "  there  was  an  accident.  Alfonse  tried  to  take  that 
turn  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  we  smashed  against  the 
wall." 

"  Yes,"  Helen  assented,  trying  to  calm  his  rising  ex 
citement,  "  there  was  an  accident,  and  you  were  badly 
hurt;  but  you  are  nearly  well  now.  Please  go  slowly, 

'[  272  ] 


THE    SPELL 


Jack,  or  you  will  undo  all  that  your  long  rest  has  ac 
complished.     There  is  plenty  of  time." 

"  But  Miss  Thayer,"  he  replied,  not  heeding  her  ad 
monition  and  glancing  about  searchingly.  "  Where  is 
Miss  Thayer?  She  was  injured,  too?" 

"  Not  seriously,"  Helen  reassured  him. 

"  Then  where  is  she  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,  but  she  is  not  far  away." 

"  You  have  not  sent  her  away  while  I  have  been  ill?" 
he  asked,  with  a  touch  of  his  former  suspicion. 

"  No,  Jack."  All  of  the  tired,  strained  tone  came 
back  in  Helen's  voice  as  she  turned  away  from  the  bed 
to  conceal  her  disappointment. 

Armstrong  sensed  it  all  as  he  had  failed  to  do  at  other 
times  since  the  gap  had  begun  to  widen. 

"  I  did  not  mean  that,  Helen,"  he  said,  and  reaching 
over  he  took  her  hand  and  drew  her  to  him ;  "  I  really 
did  not  mean  it." 

"  It  is  all  right,  Jack,"  Helen  replied,  withdrawing 
her  hand  and  trying  to  smile ;  "  I  will  find  Inez  and 
send  her  to  you."  And  before  he  could  remonstrate 
she  had  left  the  room. 

While  he  waited  Armstrong  had  a  brief  moment  of 
introspection.  Again  he  had  wounded  her,  and  for  no 
cause.  He  had  enjoyed  the  short  period  since  his 
awakening,  particularly  on  account  of  the  tender  and 
affectionate  care  Helen  had  given  him,  which  she  had 
for  a  long  time  withheld  because  of  his  own  self-centred 
interest.  It  was  with  real  regret  that  he  found  this 
little  visit  with  his  wife  so  abruptly  brought  to  an  end, 
yet  he  himself  had  forced  the  termination.  He  must 
fight  against  this  unfortunate  attribute,  he  told  him 
self,  and  show  Helen  his  real  feelings  toward  her. 
I8  [  273  ] 


THE     SPELL 


His  reveries  were  interrupted  by  Inez'  entrance.  Si 
lently  she  stood  beside  him,  holding  out  her  hand,  which 
he  quietly  grasped  for  a  moment  and  then  released.  He 
wondered  at  the  color  in  her  face  and  at  her  apparent 
unwillingness  to  meet  his  glance. 

"  They  tell  me  we  have  been  through  an  accident  to 
gether,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  Thank  God  it  was  I  who 
was  injured  and  not  you." 

Inez  turned  from  him,  closing  her  eyes  involuntarily. 
"  Don't  speak  of  it !"  she  cried,  impulsively ;  "  it  was  too 
awful !" 

"  But  it  is  all  over  now." 

"  All  but  the  memory,"  she  replied,  faintly.  "  Let  us 
forget  it,  I  beg  of  you." 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  you  for  some  of  the  details," 
Armstrong  continued,  "  which  you  alone  can  give." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  of  you,"  she  repeatca :  "  I  could  not 
bear  it." 

"  Then  by  all  means  let  us  forget  it,"  he  replied, 
curiously  affected  by  the  girl's  emotion.  "  Perhaps  some 
time  later  you  will  feel  more  like  talking  about  it.  You 
see,  I  can  remember  nothing  after  the  crash  against  the 
wall." 

"  Thank  God !"  cried  Inez,  passionately,  turning 
away  her  head. 

"  I  suppovse  it  is  better  so,"  Armstrong  assented,  still 
wondering  at  the  intensity  of  her  emotion.  "  But  when 
one  has  had  a  whole  fortnight  of  his  life  blotted  out,  he 
naturally  feels  a  bit  of  curiosity  concerning  what  hap 
pened  during  all  that  time." 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  Mr.  Armstrong.  You  don't 
know  how  this  tortures  me,  and  I  really  cannot  bear 
it." 

[274] 


THE    SPELL 


Armstrong  watched  the  girl  as  she  turned  and  fairly 
fled  from  the  room,  completely  mystified  by  her  extraor 
dinary  attitude. 

"  What  in  the  world  can  have  happened?"  he  asked 
himself ;  and  then  he  settled  back  on  the  pillow  and  tried 
to  answer  his  own  question. 


XXV 


THERE  is  no  place  like  the  sick-room  for  self-ex 
amination  and  introspection.  In  the  still  monotony 
of  the  slow-passing  days,  the  invalid's  mind  is  freed 
from  the  conventions  of  every-day  complexities,  and  can 
view  its  problems  with  a  veracity  and  a  clearness  at  other 
times  impossible.  As  Armstrong's  convalescence  con 
tinued,  he  marshalled  before  him  certain  events  which 
had  occurred  since  his  arrival  in  Florence,  and  examined 
them  with  great  minuteness.  Some  of  these  seemed 
trivial,  and  he  wondered  why  they  came  back  at  this 
time  and  forced  themselves  upon  him  with  such  per 
sistence  ;  some  of  them  were  important,  and  he  realized 
that  Helen  had  much  of  which  she  might  justly  com 
plain. 

His  eyes  followed  her  as  she  moved  about  the  room, 
quick  to  anticipate  each,  wish  or  necessity,  and  sweetly 
eager  to  respond:  yet  he  distinctly  felt  the  barrier  be 
tween  them.  He  was  conscious  now  that  this  barrier 
had  existed  for  some  time,  and  he  found  it  difficult  to 
explain  to  himself  why  he  had  only  recently  become 
aware  of  it.  Helen's,  conversations  with  him  came  back 
with  renewed  force  and  vital  meaning.  He  had  resented 
it  when  she  had  told  him  that  his  work  at  the  library 
had  made  him  indifferent  to  everything  else,  yet  she 
had  been  quite  right  in  what  she  said.  He  had  wilfully 

[276] 


THE    SPELL 


misunderstood  her  efforts  to  bring  him  back  to  himself, 
and  had  openly  blamed  her  for  faults  which  existed 
only  in  his  own  neglect.  He  had  accused  her  of  being 
jealous  of  his  intimacy  with  Miss  Thayer,  yet  her 
attitude  toward  Inez  was  a  constant  refutation.  He 
had  treated  her  even  with  incivility  and  unpardonable 
irritability. 

The  fault  was  his,  he  admitted,  yet  were  there  not 
extenuating  circumstances?  No  one  could  have  fore 
seen  how  completely  engrossed  he  was  to  become  in  his 
work,  or  the  extent  of  the  mastery  which  the  spell  of 
this  old-time  learning  was  to  gain  over  him.  Naturally, 
he  would  have  avoided  it  had  he  foreseen  it;  but  once 
under  its  influence  he  had  been  carried  forward  ir 
resistibly,  unable  to  withdraw,  unwilling  to  oppose. 
And  yet  he  had  boasted  of  his  strength! 

"  You  have  become  infinitely  bigger  and  stronger  and 
grander,"  Helen  had  said  to  him,  even  when  her  heart 
was  breaking,  "  and  I  admire  you  just  so  much  the 
more." 

Armstrong  winced  as  these  words  came  home  to  him. 
With  so  much  real  cause  for  complaint  and  upbraiding, 
Helen  had  gentty  tried  to  show  him  his  shortcomings, 
tempering  her  comment  with  expressions  full  of  loyalty 
and  affection. 

But  on  one  point  she  had  been  wholly  wrong.  It  was 
natural  that  she  should  have  misinterpreted  the  intimacy 
which  a  community  of  interests  had  brought  about  be 
tween  Miss  Thayer  and  himself.  Inez  was,  of  course, 
much  stronger  intellectually  than  Helen,  and  by  reason 
of  this  was  far  better  fitted  to  assist  him  in  his  own  in 
tellectual  expressions.  But  their  intimacy  had  never 
extended  beyond  this  even  in  thought  or  suggestion. 

[277] 


THE    SPELL 


Helen  had  insisted  that  Inez  was  in  love  with  him,  and 
he  had  tried  to  show  her  the  absurdity  of  her  suspicion. 
Here,  at  least,  he  had  been  in  the  right.  Throughout 
their  close  association,  and  even  after  Helen  had  spoken, 
he  had  never  discovered  the  slightest  evidence  that  any 
such  affection  existed.  The  still  unexplained  remarks 
of  the  contessa's  might  or  might  not  be  significant. 
Emory,  of  course,  was  prejudiced,  and  his  comments 
did  not  require  serious  consideration.  Miss  Thayer's 
refusal  to  continue  the  work,  the  comparative  infre- 
quency  of  her  visits  to  his  sick-chamber — in  fact,  every 
thing  went  to  show  how  far  Helen  had  wandered  from 
the  actual  facts. 

Armstrong  found  some  comfort  in  this  conclusion. 
With  Helen  so  unquestionably  wrong  in  this  hypothesis, 
it  of  course  went  Avithout  saying  that  she  was  equally 
wrong  in  what  she  had  said  later.  She  believed  that 
he  had  a  career  before  him.  Cerini  had  said  the  same 
thing,  Miss  Thayer  had  said  so — and  Armstrong  him 
self  believed,  in  the  consciousness  of  having  completed 
an  unusual  piece  of  work,  that  such  a  possibility  might 
exist.  He  felt  no  conceit,  but  rather  that  overpowering 
sense  of  hopefulness  which  comes  to  a  man  as  a  result 
of  successful  endeavor — not  yet  crowned,  but  completed 
to  his  own  satisfaction.  If  this  career  was  to  be  his, 
he  could  not  follow  Helen's  assumption  that  it  must 
separate  them.  That  was,  of  course,  as  ridiculous  as 
her  feelings  about  Inez.  Success  for  him  must  mean 
the  same  to  her,  his  wife.  When  the  right  time  came 
he  would  take  up  these  two  points  specifically  with  her 
and  show  her  the  error  which  had  misled  her. 

This  self-examination  covered  several  days.  At  first 
Armstrong  found  himself  unable  to  think  long  at  a  time 

[278] 


THE    SPELL 


without  becoming  mentally  wearied;  but  by  degrees  his 
mind  gained  in  vigor,  and  proved  fully  equal  to  the  de 
mands  made  upon  it.  The  details  of  what  had  happened 
on  the  day  of  the  accident  came  back  to  him  one  by  one 
up  to  the  point  of  the  accident  itself,  but  he  felt  an 
noyed  that  he  could  not  learn  more  of  this.  From  Helen, 
Uncle  Peabody,  and  the  doctor  he  knew  of  the  early  be 
lief  that  he  had  been  killed  and  of  the  excitement  caused 
by  his  revived  respiration.  Of  his  period  of  delirium, 
the  nurse  had  given  him  more  information  than  the 
others ;  but  of  the  break  between  the  moment  when  the 
car  struck  the  wall,  and  the  time  when  Helen  arrived 
upon  the  scene,  Miss  Thaycr  alone  held  the  key.  Arm 
strong's  curiosity  regarding  this  interval  was,  perhaps, 
heightened  by  the  evident  aversion  which  she  felt  to  dis 
cussing  it.  To  mention  the  subject  in  her  presence  was 
certain  to  drive  her  from  the  room,  her  face  blazing 
with  color,  her  body  trembling  in  every  nerve. 

The  patient  was  able  to  move  about  a  little  by  this 
time,  and  at  the  close  of  each  day  he  found  relief  from 
the  monotony  of  his  room  and  the  veranda  by  short 
walks  in  the  garden,  rich  in  its  midsummer  gorgeous- 
ness  of  color.  A  couch  had  been  placed  near  the  retain 
ing  wall,  so  that  he  could  rest  upon  it  whenever  he  felt 
fatigued.  Between  his  solicitude  concerning  the  situa 
tion  with  Helen,  and  his  determination  to  discover  from 
Miss  Thayer  the  occasion  of  her  remarkable  attitude, 
his  thoughts  were  fully  occupied. 

On  this  particular  afternoon  Armstrong  had  thrown 
himself  upon  the  couch,  and  for  a  moment  closed  his 
eyes.  With  no  warning  he  saw  a  scene  enacted  before 
his  mental  vision  in  which  he  himself  was  the  central 
figure.  He  was  lying  still  and  lifeless  upon  the  grass 

[279] 


THE    SPELL 


by  the  roadside  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  Four  other 
figures  were  in  the  picture.  He  recognized  Inez,  but 
the  other  women  and  the  boy  he  had  never  seen.  The 
figures  moved  about,  as  in  a  kinctoscope.  One  of  the 
women  ran  into  the  cottage  and  returned  with  a  basin 
of  water.  Inez  knelt  beside  him  and  bathed  his  forehead. 
He  could  see  the  tense  expression  on  her  face.  She 
seemed  to  speak  to  the  women,  but  he  could  distinguish 
no  words.  Then  he  saw  himself  lifted  and  carried  into 
the  cottage.  At  this  point  the  picture  disappeared  as 
suddenly  as  it  had  come. 

Armstrong  opened  his  eyes  when  he  found  the  picture 
gone,  and  sat  up,  gazing  about  him  excitedly.  He  saw 
Inez  crossing  the  veranda  and  called  to  her  abruptly. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  cried,  as  she  hastened  to  obey  the  sum 
mons  and  before  she  reached  him,  "  who  carried  me  into 
the  cottage  after  the  accident?" 

The  girl  paled  at  the  suddenness  and  intensity  of  the 
question.  "  There  were  four  of  us,"  she  said,  faintly — 
"  two  peasant  women,  a  boy,  and  myself." 

Armstrong  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead  and 
gazed  at  Inez  intently.  So  far,  then,  his  vision  had  been 
correct.  Breathlessly  he  pursued  his  interrogations. 

"  Before  that  did  one  of  the  women  bring  some  water 
from  the  cottage,  and  did  you  kneel  beside  me  and  bathe 
my  face?" 

"  Yes.     Who  has  told  you?" 

"  Then  it  all  happened  just  like  that?" 

"  Like  what?"  Inez  was  trembling,  vaguely  appre 
hensive. 

Armstrong  rose.  "  Why,  as  you  have  just  said,"  he 
replied.  "  You  know  I  have  been  trying  to  get  you  to 
tell  me  about  it." 

[280] 


THE    SPELL 


"  You  are  unkind,"  Inez  retorted,  quickly.  "  You 
know  how  much  all  mention  of  this  pains  me,  yet  you 
persist." 

"  Forgive  me."  Armstrong  controlled  himself  and 
held  out  his  hand  kindly.  "  I  don't  mean  to  hurt  you, 
believe  me,  but  my  mind  is  ever  searching  out  that  con 
necting  link.  You  won't  tell  me  about  it,  so  I  suppose 
I  shall  never  find  it." 

She  started  to  reply,  but  as  quickly  checked  herself. 
"  There  is  nothing  for  me  to  tell,"  she  said,  at  length, 
without  looking  up.  "  I  will  send  Helen  to  you,"  she 
added,  as  she  hastened  away. 

Armstrong  again  threw  himself  upon  the  couch,  and, 
trying  to  assume  the  same  position,  closed  his  eyes  in  a 
vain  endeavor  to  summon  back  the  vision  he  had  seen. 
If  it  had  only  continued  a  little  longer  he  might  have 
learned  all!  The  fugitive  nature  of  his  quest  proved  a 
fascination,  and  day  after  day  he  exerted  every  effort 
to  gratify  his  whim. 

Inez  clearly  avoided  him.  Whether  or  not  this  was 
apparent  to  the  other  members  of  the  family  he  could 
not  tell,  but  it  was  quite  obvious  to  him.  There  must 
be  some  reason  beyond  what  he  knew,  and  he  had  al 
most  stumbled  upon  it !  Another  week  passed  by,  more 
rapidly  than  any  since  his  convalescence  began  because 
of  the  determination  with  which  he  pursued  his  baffling 
problem. 

Again  he  lay  upon  his  couch  in  the  garden,  his  eyes 
closed,  but  with  his  mind  fixed  upon  its  one  desire.  Sud 
denly  he  felt  the  presence  of  some  one.  A  thrill  of  ex 
pectation  passed  through  him,  but  he  dared  not  open 
his  eyes  lest  the  impression  should  disappear.  For  what 
seemed  a  long%  time  he  was  conscious  of  this  person  stand- 

[281] 


THE    SPELL 


ing  beside  him,  and  he  knew  that  whoever  it  might  be 
was  gazing  at  him  intently.  Then  he  felt  a  hand  gen 
tly  take  his  arm,  which  was  hanging  over  the  side  of 
the  couch,  and,  raising  it  carefully,  place  it  in  a  more 
comfortable  position.  Then  the  hand  rested  for  a 
moment  on  his  forehead. 

Opening  his  eyes  a  little,  as  if  by  intuition,  he  saw 
Miss  Thayer  tiptoeing  along  the  path  toward  the  house. 
He  closed  his  eyes  again,  and  as  he  did  so  he  felt  a  sud 
den  return  of  the  subconscious  impression. 

Now,  in  his  mind's  eye  he  saw  a  cheaply  furnished 
room,  and  Miss  Thayer  leaning,  with  ashen  face  and 
dishevelled  hair,  against  a  closed  door.  He  saw  her 
sink  upon  the  floor  and  pass  through  a  paroxysm  of 
grief.  She  murmured  some  incoherent  words,  and  then 
stood  erect,  looking  straight  at  him  as  he  lay  upon  the 
bed.  Then  she  lifted  his  arm,  just  as  she  had  a  mo 
ment  before,  and  covered  his  hand  with  kisses,  sobbing 
the  while  with  no  attempt  at  control. 

"  Speak  to  me !"  he  seemed  to  hear  her  say.  "  Tell 
me  that  you  are  not  dead !"  He  could  feel  the  intensity 
of  her  gaze  even  as  he  lay  there.  "  Jack,  my  beloved ; 
you  are  mine,  dear — do  you  hear? — and  I  am  yours." 
Beads  of  perspiration  gathered  on  his  forehead.  "  How 
I  have  loved  you  all  these  weeks !  .  .  .  Now  I  can  tell 
you  of  it,  dear — it  will  do  no  harm !" 

Held  by  a  force  he  could  not  have  broken  had  he 
wished,  Armstrong  watched  the  progress  of  the  tragedy. 

"  My  darling,  my  beloved !"  he  heard  Inez  whisper ; 
"  open  your  eyes  just  once,  and  tell  me  that  I  may  call 
you  mine  if  only  for  this  one  terrible  moment.  .  .  . 
This  is  our  moment,  dear — no  one  can  take  it  from 
us!  ...  Have  you  not  seen  how  I  have  loved  you,  how 

[2821 


THE    SPELL 


I  have  struggled  to  keep  you  from  knowing  it?  .  .  . 
Jack !  Jack !  this  is  the  beginning  and  the  end !" 

He  could  endure  the  scene  no  longer.  With  a  look 
of  horror  on  his  face,  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  glanced 
about  him.  He  was  alone  in  the  garden.  He  stumbled 
rather  than  walked  to  the  retaining  wall,  and  rested 
against  it  for  support. 

"  Great  God !"  he  cried,  aloud,  "  have  I  regained  my 
mind  only  to  lose  it  again?" 

He  glanced  toward  the  house.  There  was  no  one  in 
sight,  but  Helen  was  playing  Debussy's  "  Claire  de 
Lune  "  upon  the  piano  in  the  hall,  and  the  sound  of  the 
music  soothed  him. 

"  Dreams  —  hallucinations,"  he  repeated  to  himself. 
"  God !  what  an  experience !" 


XXVI 


WITH  Armstrong's  convalescence  progressing  so 
satisfactorily,  Helen  returned  to  her  music  with 
a  clear  conscience.  She  was  determined  that 
the  influence  upon  him  of  her  personal  presence  should 
be  reduced  as  nearly  as  possible  to  a  minimum.  Nat 
urally,  during  the  period  of  his  illness  and  the  attend 
ant  weakness,  she  had  been  with  him  almost  constantly ; 
naturally  he  had  turned  to  her  with  what  seemed  to  be 
his  former  affection.  But  the  die  was  cast,  and  the  ac 
cident  which  for  the  time  being  interrupted  the  progress 
of  events  predestined  to  occur  could  in  no  way  prevent 
their  final  accomplishment.  Helen  thought  often  of 
Uncle  Peabody's  optimistic  suggestion  that  the  pres 
ent  condition  was  bound  to  straighten  matters  out,  but 
she  refused  to  be  buoyed  up  by  false  hopes,  only  to 
suffer  a  harder  blow  when  once  again  Armstrong  be 
came  what  she  believed  to  be  himself.  She  saw  no  gain 
in  tuning  up  the  heart-strings  to  their  former  pitch, 
when  neither  she  nor  Jack  could  again  play  upon  them 
with  any  degree  of  harmony. 

Helen  was  with  her  husband  for  whatever  portion  of 
the  day  he  needed  her,  whether  it  was  to  read  aloud  to 
him,  or  to  converse,  or  to  wander  about  the  garden. 
She  served  each  meal  to  him  with  her  own  hands,  and 
watched  the  progress  of  his  improvement  so  carefully 

[284] 


THE    SPELL 


that  nothing  remained  undone.  Yet,  with  deliberate  in 
tention,  she  was  with  him  no  more  than  this.  Whenever 
she  found  him  interested  in  something  or  with  some  one 
who  engaged  his  attention  for  the  time  being,  she  slipped 
away  so  quietly  that  he  scarcely  noticed  it  and  devoted 
herself  to  her  own  interests,  which  she  was  desperately 
trying  to  make  fill  the  void  in  her  life.  Her  music  was 
her  greatest  solace,  for  in  it  she  found  a  response  to 
her  every  mood.  In  the  dim-lit  hall  of  the  villa  she 
sat  for  hours  at  the  piano,  her  fingers  running  over  the 
keys,  her  mind  pondering  upon  her  complex  problem — 
each  action  apparently  separated  from  the  other,  yet  in 
exact  accord.  Sometimes  it  was  a  nocturne  of  Chopin's, 
sometimes  an  impromptu  of  Schubert's ;  but  always  she 
found  in  the  unspoken,  poetic  expression  of  the  com 
poser's  soul  an  answering  sympathy  which  was  lacking 
in  other  forms  more  tangible. 

Inez  interrupted  ®ne  of  these  communions,  when  Helen 
supposed  herself  alone  with  Debussy.  Lately  she  had 
found  herself  turning  to  the  charm  and  mystery  of  his 
atmosphere,  the  strangeness  of  his  idiom,  the  vagueness 
of  his  rhythms,  and  the  fugitive  grace  and  fancy  of  his 
harmonic  expression  with  an  understanding  and  a  sur 
render  which  she  had  never  before  felt.  The  music  re 
flected  upon  her  its  delicate  perception  of  nature  in 
all  its  moods — the  splash  of  the  waves  upon  the  shore, 
the  roaring  of  the  surf,  the  gloom  of  the  forests  relieved 
by  the  moonlight  on  the  trees. 

"  Don't,  Helen — I  beg  of  you !"  Inez  exclaimed,  sud 
denly.  "  Say  it  to  me,  but  don't  torture  me  with  those 
weird  reproaches.  Every  note  almost  drives  me  wild !" 

"  Why,  Inez,  dear !"  cried  Helen,  startled  by  the  girl's 
words  no  less  than  by  the  suddenness  of  the  interruption. 

[285] 


THE     SPELL 


"  What  in  the  world  do  you  mean  ?  You  should  have 
told  me  before  if  my  playing  affected  you  so." 

"  I  love  it,  Helen,"  she  replied ;  "  but  lately  it  has 
hurt  me  through  and  through.  I  can  hear  your  voice 
echoing  in  every  note  you  strike,  and  I  feel  its  bitter 
reproach." 

Helen  tried  to  draw  Inez  beside  her,  but  the  girl  sank 
upon  the  floor,  resting  her  elbows  on  Helen's  knees  and 
looking  up  into  her  face  with  tense  earnestness. 

"  You  have  been  terribly  unstrung  these  days,  dear," 
Helen  replied,  "  and  you  are  unstrung  now  or  you  would 
not  discover  what  does  not  exist.  It  is  your  instinctive 
sympathy  for  poor  Melisande  that  makes  you  feel  so — 
you  see  her,  as  I  do,  floating  resistlcssly  over  the  terraces 
and  fountains,  the  plaything  of  Fate,  a  phantom  of 
love  and  longing  and  uncertainty.  That  is  what  you 
feel,  dear." 

Helen  took  Inez'  face  between  her  hands  and  looked 
into  her  eyes  for  a  moment.  "  People  call  it  mystical 
and  unreal,"  she  continued,  "  but  I  believe  that  some  of 
us  have  it  in  our  own  lives,  don't  you?" 

Inez  did  not  reply  directly,  and  struggled  to  escape 
the  searching  gaze. 

"  Helen,"  she  said,  abruptly,  "  I  simply  cannot  stay 
nn  here;  I  shall  go  mad  if  I  do.  Each  time  I  suggest 
~oing  you  say  that  you  need  me,  and  it  seems  ungrate 
ful,  after  all  you  have  done  for  me,  to  speak  as  I  do. 
But  you  cannot  understand.  I  am  not  myself,  and  I 
am  getting  into  a  condition  which  will  make  me  a  burden 
to  you  instead  of  a  help." 

"  I  do  need  you,  dear,"  Helen  replied,  quietly,  "  but 
certainly  not  at  the  expense  either  of  your  health  or 
your  happiness.  The  effects  of  the  accident  have  lasted 

[286] 


THE    SPELL 


much  longer  than  I  thought  they  would.  I  wanted  you 
to  be  quite  recovered  before  you  left  us." 

"  If  the  accident  Avere  all !"  moaned  Inez,  burying  her 
face  in  Helen's  lap. 

Helen  made  no  response,  but  laid  her  hand  kindly 
upon  Inez'  head.  After  a  few  moments  the  girl  straight 
ened  up.  Her  eyes  burned  with  the  intensity  of  her 
sudden  resolve,  and  she  spoke  rapidly,  as  if  fearful  that 
her  courage  would  prove  insufficient  for  the  task  she  had 
set  for  herself  to  do. 

"  Helen !"  she  cried,  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you  some 
thing  which  will  make  you  hate  me.  You  will  want  me 
to  leave  you,  and  our  friendship  will  be  forever  ended." 

"  Wait,  dear,"  urged  Helen — "  wait  until  you  are 
calmer ;  then,  if  you  choose,  tell  me  all  that  you  have  in 
your  heart." 

"  No ;  I  must  tell  you  now.  I  love  Jack,  Helen — do 
you  understand?  I  love  your  husband,  and,  fight  it  as 
I  do,  I  cannot  help  it.  Think  of  having  to  make  a  con 
fession  like  that !" 

Helen's  face  lighted  up  with  glad  relief. 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  told  me  this,"  she  said, 
quietly. 

Inez  gazed  at  Helen  in  wonder,  amazed  by  her  calm 
ness  and  her  unexpected  words. 

"  But  I  must  tell  you  more,"  she  continued,  wildly ; 
"  I  have  loved  him  for  weeks — almost  since  I  first  came 
here !" 

"  I  know  you  have,  Inez."  Helen  pressed  a  kiss  upon 
the  girl's  forehead.  "  I  have  known  it  for  a  long  time ; 
but  I  have  also  seen  your  struggle  against  it,  and  your 
loyalty  to  me — and  to  him." 

"You  have  known  it?"  Inez  asked,  faintly.  Then 
[2871 


THE    SPELL 


her  voice  strengthened  again.  "  But  you  have  not  known 
all!  I  did  fight  against  it,  as  you  say,  and  I  was  loyal 
until  "  — her  voice  broke  for  a  moment — "  until  that  day 
of  the  accident — in  the  cottage — I  thought  him  dead — " 

"  Yes,"  encouraged  Helen,  eagerly. 

"  Until  then  I  was  loyal,  but  when  I  was  alone  with 
him,  and  thought  him  dead,  I — oh,  Helen,  you  will  hate 
me  as  I  hate  myself — then  I  kissed  him,  and  I  told  him 
of  my  love,  and  I — 

"  Yes,  I  know,  dear,"  Helen  interrupted,  her  voice 
full  of  tenderness.  "  No  one  can  blame  you  for  what 
you  did  under  such  awful  circumstances.  I  suspected 
what  had  happened  when  I  found  you  where  you  had 
fainted  across  his  body.  But  you  can't  imagine  how 
glad  I  am  that  you  have  told  me  all  this.  I  felt  sure 
you  would,  some  day." 

"  You  will  let  me  go  now,  won't  you  ?  You  can  see 
how  impossible  it  is  for  me  to  stay." 

"  I  need  you  now  more  than  ever,"  replied  Helen, 
firmly.  "  If  you  insist  on  leaving  I  shall  not  urge  you 
to  stay,  but  even  you— knowing  what  you  do — can 
not  know  how  much  I  need  you." 

"  How  did  you  know?"  Inez  asked,  weakly. 

"  From  what  Ferdy  said  first,  then  from  what  I  saw 
myself." 

"  Why  did  you  not  send  me  away,  then?" 

"  I  had  no  right  to  do  so,  Inez." 

"  Of  course  you  were  perfectly  sure  of  Jack." 

Helen  winced.  "  Yes,"  she  replied,  quietly ;  "  I  was 
sure  of  Jack." 

"  But  you  understand  now  that  I  really  cannot 
stay?" 

"  Jack  needs  you  still." 

[288] 


THE    SPELL 


"  No ;  his  manuscript  is  complete.  He  will  not  need 
me  for  the  revision." 

"  You  would  stay  if  he  did  ?" 

"  Why,  yes." 

"  Then  if  you  would  stay  if  he  needed  you,  surely  you 
will  do  the  same  for  me?" 

"  Oh,  Helen !" 

"  Will  you  ?  When  Jack  is  quite  himself  again  I 
will  urge  no  longer.  Now  that  you  have  told  me  this, 
it  will  be  easier  for  you.  Will  you  not  do  this  for 
me?" 

"  There  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  for  you,  Helen !" 
cried  Inez,  throwing  her  arms  impulsively  around  her 
friend's  neck  and  kissing  her  passionately.  "  You  are 
so  strong  you  make  me  more  ashamed  than  ever  of  my 
own  weakness." 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  Helen  replied,  simply,  return 
ing  her  embrace ;  "  but  don't  make  any  mistake  about 
my  strength.  It  is  because  I  lack  it  so  sadly  that  I  ask 
you  to  stay." 

Dr.  Montgomery  found  Armstrong's  temperature  con 
siderably  higher  when  he  called  later  in  the  day,  after 
the  disquieting  mental  experience  his  patient  had  passed 
through.  Armstrong  also  appeared  to  be  preoccupied, 
and  more  interested  in  asking  questions  than  in  answer 
ing  them.  For  the  first  time  he  seemed  to  be  curious  in 
regard  to  the  nature  of  his  illness. 

"  In  a  case  like  mine,  is  it  possible  for  the  mental  con 
valescence  to  be  retarded  or  to  go  backward?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  Dr.  Montgomery  replied,  "  it  is  possible,  but 
hardly    probable,    especially    with    a    patient    who    has 
progressed  so  normally  as  you  have." 
w  [  289  ] 


THE     SPELL 


"  It  is  normal  for  the  memory  to  have  a  complete 
lapse,  as  in  my  case  ?" 

"  Absolutely  so." 

"  Is  it  possible  for  a  knowledge  of  the  events  which 
occurred  during  such  a  lapse  to  be  restored — say,  weeks 
afterward  ?" 

"  Yes ;  under  certain  conditions." 

"And  those  conditions  are?"  asked  Armstrong, 
eagerly. 

The  doctor  settled  back  in  his  chair. 

"  Let  me  see  if  I  can  make  it  clear  to  you :  all  mem 
ories  are  permanent — that  is  to  say,  every  event  makes 
a  distinct,  even  though  it  may  be  an  unconscious,  im 
pression  upon  the  brain.  Sometimes  these  memories 
remain  dormant  for  months,  or  even  years,  before  some 
thing  occurs  to  bring  them  to  mind;  but  even  before 
this  the  memories  are  there,  just  the  same." 

"  But  you  are  speaking  of  every-day  occurrences,  are 
you  not?  My  question  is  whether  or  not  it  might  be 
possible  for  me,  for  example,  to  have  a  reviving  knowl 
edge  of  certain  events  which  took  place  during  a  period 
of  apparent  unconsciousness." 

"  I  understand.  Yes,  it  would  be  quite  possible  for 
this  to  happen." 

"  What  would  be  necessary  to  bring  it  about?" 

Dr.  Montgomery  smiled  at  his  patient's  earnestness. 

"Are  you  so  eager  to  recall  that  period?  But  the 
question  is  a  fair  one.  Some  incident  must  take  place 
similar  to  something  which  occurred  during  the  uncon 
scious  period  in  order  to  revive  the  dormant  memory. 
I  doubt  if  you  could  do  it  deliberately." 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  trying,"  Armstrong  replied ; 
"  but  I  am  interested  in  this  particular  phase  of  the 

[290] 


THE     SPELL 


case.  Suppose,  during  the  apparently  unconscious  peri 
od,  some  one  had  lifted  my  arm  or  placed  a  hand  upon 
my  forehead — would  the  same  act  be  enough  to  restore 
the  dormant  memory,  as  you  call  it  ?" 

"  Quite  enough — though  it  would  not  necessarily  do 
so.  I  have  known  several  cases  where  the  repetition  of 
such  an  act  has  produced  just  the  result  which  you  de 
scribe." 

"  And  these  revived  impressions  are  apt  to  be  trust 
worthy?" 

"  As  a  photographic  plate,"  replied  the  doctor,  em 
phatically. 

Armstrong  was  silent  for  some  moments. 

"  It  is  an  interesting  phase,  as  you  say,"  he  remarked, 
at  length.  "  I  think  I  may  try  the  experiment,  after 
all." 

"  The  chances  will  be  against  you ;  but  I  imagine  you 
have  been  pretty  well  informed  of  what  has  happened. 
Don't  try  to  think  too  hard.  It  will  be  all  the  better 
for  you  to  give  your  brain  a  little  rest;  it  has  had  a 
hard  shaking-up." 

So  this  was  the  solution  of  the  mystery  for  which 
he  had  sought  so  long!  Armstrong  found  himself  in 
a  curious  position  after  the  doctor  took  his  departure, 
leaving  behind  him  a  new  knowledge  of  affairs  which, 
six  hours  before,  his  patient  would  have  considered  ab 
solutely  preposterous.  Helen  was  right,  and  had  been 
right  from  the  beginning.  His  one  consolation  was  re 
moved,  and  in  its  place  was  a  complication  which  seemed 
past  straightening  out.  To  the  blame  which  Armstrong 
had  already  taken  to  himself  on  Helen's  account,  he 
must  now  add  the  responsibility  of  having  inspired  this 
sentiment  in  Inez'  heart,  which  meant  unhappiness  to 

[291] 


THE    SPELL 


all.  Even  though  this  had  been  done  unconsciously,  he 
told  himself,  it  was  no  less  culpable  in  that  he  had  not 
himself  discovered  the  situation  and  checked  it  before 
any  serious  harm  had  been  done.  Helen  had  seen  it, 
the  contessa  had  seen  it,  and  he  wondered  how  many 
others.  He  had  been  blind  in  this,  criminally  blind,  and 
now  he  must  pay  the  penalty. 

But  this  penalty  could  not  be  borne  by  him  alone — 
he  could  see  that  clearly.  Helen  and  Inez  were  both 
hopelessly  involved.  And  wrhat  a  woman  his  wife  had 
shown  herself  to  be !  Knowing  of  this  affection  on  the 
part  of  Inez,  she  had  suffered  them  to  continue  together 
in  order  that  his  work  might  not  be  disturbed.  She  had 
told  him  just  how  matters  stood — not  with  recrimina 
tions,  but  with  loving  solicitude,  offering  to  sacrifice 
herself,  if  necessary,  to  secure  his  happiness,  drinking 
her  cup  of  sorrow  to  the  dregs,  and  alone !  It  was  plain 
enough  to  him  now.  He  thought  of  Helen  as  she  was 
when  they  first  came  to  Florence,  and  compared  her 
with  the  Helen  of  to-day.  He  had  brought  about  that 
change ;  he  alone  was  responsible  for  it.  She  had  craved 
the  present,  with  its  sunshine,  its  birds,  its  happiness, 
and  instead  of  all  this  he  had  filled  it  for  her  with  noth 
ing  but  sorrow  and  suffering !  He  merited  the  scoring 
Emory  gave  him,  even  though  the  denunciation  had  gone 
too  far. 

As  the  bandage  fell  from  his  eyes,  the  character  which 
he  had  assumed  during  these  past  months  stood  out  clear 
ly  before  him,  shorn  of  its  academic  halo,  and  pitiful  in 
its  unfulfilled  ideals.  He  had  sought  to  join  that  com 
pany  of  humanists  who  had  awakened  the  world  to  the 
joy  and  beauty  of  intellectual  attainment.  He  had  be 
lieved  himself  worthy  of  this  honor,  in  that  he  believed 

[292] 


THE    SPELL 


he  had  understood  and  sympathized  with  their  under 
lying  motives.  So  he  had  in  principle,  but  how  wofully 
he  had  failed  in  his  efforts  to  carry  them  out!  Instead 
of  assimilating  the  happy  youthfulness  of  the  Greek,  to 
gether  with  the  Grecian  harmony  of  existence,  he  had 
developed  his  morbid  self-centering  and  self-conscious 
ness.  His  blind,  unreasoning  devotion  to  his  single  in 
terest  had  resulted  in  folly  and  fanaticism.  He  had 
overlooked  the  cardinal  element  in  the  humanistic  creed 
that  knowledge  without  love  meant  death  and  isolation. 
Instead  of  singling  out  and  joining  together  the  beau 
ties  for  which  humanism  stood,  he  had  embraced  and 
emphasized  its  limitations. 

"  I  am  an  impostor !"  Armstrong  exclaimed,  no  longer 
able  to  endure  his  mental  lashing  in  silence — "  an  arrant 
impostor!  I  have  set  myself  up  as  a  modern  apostle, 
I  have  written  platitudes  upon  intellectual  supremacy 
and  the  religion  of  knowledge,  when  the  one  single  per 
sonal  attribute  to  which  I  can  justly  lay  claim  is  in 
sufferable  academic  arrogance.  I  have  seized  a  half- 
truth  and  fortified  it  with  fact ;  and  in  accomplishing 
this  stupendous  piece  of  fatuous  nonsense  I  have  stulti 
fied  myself  and  destroyed  the  happiness  of  all !" 


XXVII 


A  RMSTRONG'S  first  act,  on  the  following  day,  was 
/-%  to  send  to  the  library  for  his  manuscript.  Helen 
looked  upon  this  as  an  evidence  that  with  his  re 
turning  strength  had  also  come  a  return  of  his  all-con 
trolling  passion.  This  was  a  natural  explanation  of  the 
peculiar  change  which  she  had  noticed  in  him  during  the 
past  few  days,  and  his  request  fitted  in  so  perfectly  with 
a  conversation  between  Uncle  Peabody  and  herself  the 
evening  before  that  she  almost  unconsciously  exchanged 
with  him  a  glance  of  mutual  understanding. 

But  the  real  motive  was  quite  at  variance  with  her 
interpretation.  Armstrong  had  passed  through  his  peri 
od  of  introspection  without  taking  any  one  into  his  con 
fidence.  Fierce  as  the  struggle  had  been,  he  felt  in 
stinctively  that  his  only  chance  of  restoring  conditions 
to  anything  which  even  approached  equilibrium  was  to 
make  no  new  false  step.  He  had  come  to  certain  definite 
conclusions,  but  was  still  undecided  as  to  the  proper 
methods  to  be  adopted  in  his  attempt  to  turn  these  con 
clusions  into  realities. 

First  of  all,  he  had  placed  himself  in  an  entirely  false 
position  with  Helen.  He  had  given  her  cause  to  be 
lieve  him  indifferent  and  neglectful.  This,  at  least,  he 
argued,  could  be  remedied,  even  though  it  was  now  too 
late  to  spare  her  the  suffering  through  which  she  had 

[294] 


THE    SPELL 


passed.  But  he  could  explain  it  all,  and  by  his  future 
devotion  to  her,  and  to  those  interests  of  which  she  was 
a  part,  he  could  make  her  forget  the  past. 

With  Miss  Thayer  the  proposition  was  a  different 
one.  To  her  he  had  done  an  injury  which  could  not  be 
repaired.  He  had  sought  to  take  her  with  him  into  a 
world  full  of  those  possibilities  which  the  intellectual 
alone  can  comprehend.  Instead  of  leaving  her  there, 
inspired  by  the  wisdom  of  such  an  intercourse,  he  had 
— unconsciously  but  still  culpably — developed  in  her  an 
interest  in  himself.  The  problem  was  to  extricate  her 
and  himself  from  this  compromising  situation  without 
destroying  all  future  self-respect  for  them  both ;  and  the 
solution  of  it  seemed  far  bej^ond  his  reach. 

And  besides  all  this,  there  was  the  manuscript.  De 
spite  his  best  endeavor,  he  could  not  recall  even  an  out 
line  of  what  he  had  written.  After  a  full  realization 
came  to  him  of  the  extent  to  which  he  had  misunderstood 
and  misconstrued  the  basic  principles  of  humanism  it 
self,  his  interest  in  his  work  became  one  of  curiosity  to 
learn  by  actual  examination  how  far  he  had  accepted  the 
half-truths,  and  how  far  he  had  wandered  from  the  path 
which  he  had  thought  he  knew  so  well.  The  whole  vol 
ume  must  be  filled  with  absurd  theories,  falsely  conceived 
and  as  falsely  expressed.  He  must  go  over  it,  page  by 
page,  and  learn  from  it  the  bitter  fact  of  his  unworthi- 
ness  to  stand  as  the  modern  expounder  of  those  great 
minds  whose  influence  alone  should  have  been  enough  to 
hold  him  to  his  appointed  course. 

When  the  manuscript  arrived  he  devoted  himself  to  it 
with  an  eagerness  which  added  to  the  natural  misunder 
standing  of  his  motive.  With  no  word  of  comment,  he 
took  the  package  to  his  room,  where,  after  bolting  the 

[  295  ] 


THE    SPELL 


door,  he  opened  it  and  applied  himself  to  his  task. 
Hours  passed  hy,  but  he  refused  to  be  interrupted. 
Helen  tried  to  persuade  him  to  come  down-stairs  for 
luncheon,  but  he  begged  to  be  excused.  Uncle  Pcabody 
calmed  her  anxiety ;  so  the  day  passed,  leaving  him  alone 
with  his  burdens. 

Armstrong  approached  his  manuscript  with  bitterness 
of  spirit.  This  was  the  tangible  form  of  that  inexplicable 
force  which  had  drawn  him  away  from  those  ties  which 
stood  to  him  for  all  future  peace  and  serenity ;  this  had 
been  the  medium  which  had  fostered  the  new  affection 
so  fraught  with  sorrow  and  even  danger ;  this  was  the 
proof  of  his  absolute  lack  of  harmony  with  those  noble 
principles  which  he  still  felt,  when  rightly  expressed, 
represented  the  highest  possibilities  of  life  itself.  At 
first  he  hesitated  to  read  it,  dreading  what  it  must  dis 
close.  Then  he  attacked  it  fiercely,  passing  from  page 
to  page  with  feverish  intensity. 

As  he  read,  his  bitterness  and  dread  disappeared,  and 
in  their  place  came  first  surprise  and  then  amazement. 
Was  this  his  manuscript?  Had  he  written  these  pages 
in  which  the  real,  wholesome,  glorious  spirit  of  past 
attainment  and  present  possibilities  fairly  lived  and 
breathed !  His  amazement  turned  into  absolute  mys 
tification.  He  read  of  the  important  movement  which 
liberated  the  rich  humanities  of  Greece  and  Rome  from 
the  proscription  of  the  Church;  he  saw  literature  itself 
expand  in  subject  and  in  quantity;  he  himself  felt  the 
sundering  of  the  bonds  of  ignorance,  superstition,  and 
tradition  which  had  previously  confined  intellectual  life 
on  all  sides. 

Surely  this  was  a  simple  yet  sane  presentation  of  the 
subject,  Armstrong  said  to  himself,  as  it  had  formulated 

[296] 


THE    SPELL 


itself  in  words  after  his  long  study.  His  error  must  lie 
in  his  application  of  it  to  the  people.  The  manuscript 
unfolded  rapidly  under  his  eager  inspection.  It  told 
him  of  the  great  step  forward  when  writing  changed 
to  printing.  He  followed  the  convincing  argument  that 
this  new  art  from  its  earliest  beginnings  was  to  be  identi 
cal  with  that  of  culture,  and  a  faithful  index  to  the  stand 
ards  of  the  ages  to  come.  It  told  him  that  the  advent 
of  the  printing-press  made  men  think,  and  gave  them 
the  opportunity  of  studying  description  and  argument 
where  previously  they  had  merely  gazed  at  pictorial 
design.  He  could  see  the  development  of  the  people 
under  this  new  influence,  growing  strong  in  self-reliance, 
and  confident  in  their  increasing  power. 

He  found  himself  unable  to  condemn  his  work  thus 
far.  In  application,  as  in  definition,  what  he  had  writ 
ten  seemed  to  ring  true.  Later  on  he  must  find  ex 
pressions  of  those  distorted  ideals  in  the  manuscript,  just 
as  he  had  found  them  in  himself.  With  increasing  in 
terest  he  read  of  the  benefits  these  people  of  the  quattro 
cento  reaped  from  the  principles  of  Grecian  civilization, 
now  tempered  by  the  inevitable  filtering  through  the 
great  minds  of  a  century.  With  no  uncertain  note  the 
manuscript  portrayed  the  efforts  made  by  this  people 
to  reach  the  unattainable,  refusing  to  be  bound  down  by 
limited  ideals,  and  creating  masterpieces  in  every  art 
which  expressed  in  the  highest  form  the  ethical  spirit  of 
the  period. 

The  pages  still  turned  rapidly.  At  times  Armstrong 
became  so  absorbed  that  he  forgot  himself  and  the  fact 
that  he  was  anatyzing  the  outpouring  of  his  own  soul. 
Then  he  recalled  the  present  and  the  problem  before 
him.  He  could  not  comprehend  that  this  work  was  his 

[2971 


THE    SPELL 


own ;  he  did  not  remember  writing  it ;  he  was  ignorant  of 
the  particular  study  or  reasoning  which  had  brought 
it  forth.  But  there  the  words  stood,  in  his  own  hand 
writing,  a  visible  evidence  of  something  which  had 
actually  taken  place. 

As  the  reading  progressed,  he  became  more  and  more 
bewildered.  It  was  direct  and  convincing.  The  sub 
ject  was  handled  with  restraint,  and  yet  he  felt  the  force 
behind  each  sentence.  Suddenly  his  eye  fell  upon  this 
paragraph : 

"  After  giving  due  credit  to  humanism  for  its  vast 
contribution  to  the  arts  and  to  literature,  there  yet  re 
mains  to  acknowledge  the  greatest  debt  of  all :  it  taught 
man  to  hold  himself  open  to  truth  from  every  side, 
and  so  to  assimilate  it  that  it  became  a  part  of  his 
very  life  itself.  Thus  making  himself  inclusive  of 
all  about  him,  his  attitude  toward  his  fellow  -  man 
could  not  be  other  than  sympathetic  and  apprecia 
tive." 

Armstrong  read  this  over  a  second  time,  and,  bending 
forward,  he  rested  his  head  upon  his  hands  in  the  midst 
of  the  sheets  of  manuscript  and  groaned  aloud.  This 
was  his  acknowledgment  of  the  great  lesson  of  human 
ism,  and  yet  he  had  not  applied  it  to  his  own  every-day 
life !  "  It  taught  man  to  hold  himself  open  to  truth 
from  every  side,"  he  repeated  to  himself.  "  Thus  mak 
ing  himself  inclusive  of  all  about  him,  his  attitude  tow 
ard  his  fellow-man  could  not  be  other  than  sympathetic 
and  appreciative." 

At  length  he  raised  his  head,  and,  rising  wearily,  he 
walked  to  the  window,  drawing  in  the  refreshing  air. 
The  strain  had  been  intense,  and  he  found  himself  utter 
ly  exhausted. 

[  298  ] 


THE    SPELL 


"  I  see  it  all,"  he  said,  bitterly ;  "  the  fault  is  not  with 
the  book  or  with  the  principles  themselves — it  is  with 
me !  I  have  written  better  than  I  knew ;  I  have  preached 
where  I  have  not  practised.  Oh,  Helen — oh,  Inez !  Can 
I  ever  undo  the  wrong  I  have  done  you  both!" 


XXVIII 


IT  was  several  days  before  Armstrong  found  himself 
ready  to  take  up  the  unravelling  of  the  thread.  The 
shuttle  had  moved  to  and  fro  so  silently,  and  its  web 
was  woven  with  so  intricate  a  pattern,  that  he  felt  the 
hopelessness  even  of  finding  an  end  of  the  yarn,  where 
he  might  begin  his  work.  He  watched  the  two  girls  in 
their  every-day  life  as  they  moved  about  him ;  he  studied 
them  carefully,  he  compared  their  personal  character 
istics.  Both  were  greatly  changed.  Miss  Thayer  con 
tinued  ill  at  case-  and  unlike  her  former  self  in  her  re 
lations  to  Helen  and  Uncle  Peabody  as  well  as  toward 
himself.  He  felt  that  now  he  understood  the  reason ;  and 
beyond  this  it  was  natural  that  she  should  miss  the  ab 
sorbing  interest  which  the  work  had  given  her,  coming, 
as  it  did,  to  so  abrupt  an  end  and  leaving  nothing  which 
could  take  its  place. 

But  Helen  had  changed  more.  The  girlish  vivacity 
which  had  previously  characterized  her  had  disappeared, 
and  in  its  place  had  come  a  quiet,  reposeful  dignity 
which,  while  it  made  her  seem  an  older  woman,  would 
have  appealed  to  him  as  wonderfully  becoming  save  for 
the  restraint  which  accompanied  it.  She  held  herself  ab 
solutely  in  hand.  Her  every  action,  while  considerate 
in  its  relation  to  others,  admitted  of  no  denial.  Arm 
strong  felt  instinctively  rather  than  because  of  anything 

[300] 


THE     SPELL 


which  had  happened  that  were  their  wills  to  clash  now 
hers  would  prove  the  stronger.  There  had  been  a  de 
velopment  in  her  far  beyond  anything  he  had  realized. 

Comparing  the  two,  as  he  had  ample  opportunity  to 
do,  he  wondered  if  he  had  made  a  fair  estimate  of  her 
strength  in  his  previous  considerations.  Helen  had  con 
sidered  herself  unfitted  to  enter  into  his  work  with  him. 
She  had  frankly  staled  her  unwillingness  to  go  back  into 
the  past,  and  to  live  among  its  memories,  when  the  pres 
ent  offered  an  alternative  which  was  to  her  so  much  more 
attractive.  Inez  seized  with  avidity  the  opportunity  he 
offered,  and  had  entered  into  his  work  with  an  enthu 
siasm  second  only  to  his  own.  Suppose  Helen  had  done 
this,  Armstrong  asked  himself.  With  her  character 
istics,  as  he  was  only  now  coming  to  understand  them, 
she  would  not  long  have  remained  content  to  act  as  his 
agent — she  would  have  become  a  definite  part  of  the 
work  herself,  and  would  have  helped  to  shape  it,  instead 
of  yielding  more  and  more  to  his  own  personality.  Inez 
had  helped  him  much,  and  his  obligation  to  her  was  not 
overlooked ;  but  he  could  see  how  this  helpfulness  had 
lessened,  day  by  day,  as  her  intellect  had  become  sub 
servient  to  his  owrn.  He  had  been  glad  of  this  at  the 
time,  but  now  he  found  himself  asking  whether  Helen 
would  not  have  shown  greater  strength  under  the  same 
circumstances. 

Since  his  accident  the  contrast  had  been  greater. 
Helen  had  assumed  definite  control  over  everything. 
Inez,  Uncle  Peabody,  Armstrong  himself  recognized  in 
her,  without  expression,  the  acknowledged  and  undis 
puted  head  of  affairs.  It  had  all  come  about  so  nat 
urally,  and  Helen  herself  seemed  so  unconscious  of  it, 
that  he  could  not  explain  it.  On  the  other  hand,  Inez 

[301] 


THE     SPELL 


had  completely  lost  her  nerve.  The  crisis  through  which 
the  two  girls  had  passed  had  produced  upon  them  vastly 
differing  effects,  and  Armstrong  could  not  fail  to  be 
impressed  by  the  result  of  his  observations. 

Finally  he  determined  to  talk  the  matter  over  with 
Helen,  and  here  again  he  found  himself  counting  upon 
her  assistance  in  straightening  things  out  with  Inez. 
Had  he  realized  it,  this  was  the  first  time  in  his  life 
that  he  had  admitted  even  to  himself  that  any  one  could 
aid  him  in  any  matter  which  he  could  not  personally 
control.  Dimly,  it  is  true,  but  still  definitely,  he  was 
conscious  that  he  was  making  an  unusual  admission,  yet 
he  experienced  a  certain  amount  of  gratification  in  do 
ing  so. 

Helen  had  been  reading  aloud  to  him  while  he  re 
clined  upon  his  couch  in  a  shady  corner  of  the  veranda. 
For  some  moments  he  had  heard  nothing  of  the  spoken 
words,  for  his  eyes,  resting  fixedly  upon  his  wife's  face, 
revealed  to  him  a  more  impressive  story  than  that  con 
tained  within  the  printed  volume.  How  beautiful  she 
was !  The  clear-cut  profile ;  the  long  lashes  hiding  from 
him  the  deep,  responsive  eyes,  whose  sympathy  he  well 
knew;  the  soft,  sweet  voice  which  fell  upon  his  ear  with 
soothing  cadence :  the  whole  harmonious  bearing,  indic 
ative  of  a  character  well  defined,  yet  unconscious  of  its 
strength — all  combined  to  show  him  at  a  single  glance 
how  rare  a  woman  she  really  was.  As  he  watched  her 
the  definition  which  he  himself  had  written  came  back 
to  him  with  tremendous  force.  "  It  taught  man  to  hold 
himself  open  to  truth  from  every  side.  Thus  making 
himself  inclusive  of  all  about  him,  his  attitude  toward  his 
fellow-man  could  not  be  other  than  sympathetic  and  ap 
preciative."  What  man  or  woman  had  he  ever  known 


THE     SPELL 


who  so  truly  lived  up  to  this  high  standard  as  this  girl 
who  sat  beside  him,  all  unconscious  of  the  tumult  raging 
in  his  mind? 

Then  the  storm  passed  from  his  brain  to  his  heart. 
His  affection,  intensified  by  the  struggles  he  had  experi 
enced,  overpowered  him,  and  he  cried  aloud  in  a  voice 
which  startled  Helen  by  the  suddenness  of  its  appeal. 
Seizing  her  disengaged  hand,  he  pressed  it  passionately 
to  his  lips. 

"  Don't  read  any  more,"  he  begged ;  "  I  must  talk 
with  you." 

Startled  almost  to  a  degree  of  alarm,  she  laid  down 
the  book,  regarding  him  intently. 

"  Can  you  ever  forgive  me  for  all  I  have  made  you 
suffer?"  he  continued,  in  the  same  tense  voice;  "  can  you 
ever  believe  that  my  forgetfulness  of  everything  which 
was  due  you  was  not  deliberate,  but  the  result  of  some 
force  beyond  my  control  ?" 

Helen  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment  before 
replying.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  at  length,  making  a  desper 
ate  effort  to  preserve  her  composure ;  "  I  forgive  you 
gladly.  Shall  we  go  on  with  the  story  ?" 

"  No !"  he  replied,  almost  fiercely,  seizing  the  volume 
and  placing  it  beyond  her  reach  upon  the  couch.  "  I 
have  been  waiting  for  this  moment  too  long,  and  now 
nothing  shall  take  it  from  me." 

Helen  realized  that  it  was  also  the  moment  for  which 
she  had  been  waiting,  and  which  she  had  been  dread 
ing  beyond  expression.  Now  he  would  comprehend 
what  she  had  meant,  now  he  would  struggle  with 
her  to  prevent  her  from  doing  what  she  knew  she 
must  do. 

"  There  is  no  need  of  explanation,  Jack,"  she  said,  at 
[303] 


THE     SPELL 


length.  "  I  understand  everything,  and  have  under 
stood  for  a  long  time." 

"  Can  you  believe  that  I  myself  have  only  recently 
come  to  a  realization?" 

"  Yes :  it  has  come  to  you  sooner  than  I  had  expected." 

"  Can  you  believe  how  sincerely  pained  I  am  that  all 
this  should  have  happened?" 

"  I  have  never  for  a  moment  thought  that  you  Avould 
intentionally  hurt  me." 

"  Then  you  do  understand,  and  will  forget  ?" 

Armstrong  sat  up  on  the  edge  of  the  couch  and  watch 
ed  Helen's  face  intently. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  asking,"  she  replied, 
dropping  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  he  insisted.  "  I  want  to  blot  out  the 
memory  of  every  pang  I  have  caused  you  by  a  devotion 
beyond  anything  you  have  ever  dreamed." 

"  Don't,  Jack,"  protested  Helen. 

"  Why  not  ?  Don't  you  think  I  mean  it  ?  From  now 
on  I  have  no  interest  except  you,  dear;  and  I  will  make 
you  forget  everything  which  has  happened." 

Helen  pressed  his  hand  gratefully,  and  then  withdrew 
her  own. 

"  This  is  only  going  to  open  everything  up  again," 
she  said,  in  a  low,  strained  voice,  "  and  that  will  be  sim 
ply  another  great  mistake." 

"  You  don't  believe  me."  Armstrong's  voice  was  re 
proachful. 

"  I  believe  you  feel  all  that  you  say  now,  Jack." 

"But—" 

"  But  you  are  not  yourself  now ;  that  is  all." 

"  I  am  quite  nvyself ;  in  fact,  I  am  almost  as  good  as 

new." 

[304] 


THE    SPELL 


"  I  don't  mean  physically." 

"  And  mentally  as  well.  My  mind  is  as  clear  as  it 
ever  was." 

"  I  know,  Jack ;  but  you  are  far  away  from  the  in 
fluence  which  has  so  controlled  you.  That  is  what  I 
mean." 

"  It  is  a  mighty  good  thing  that  I  am."  Armstrong 
spoke  with  emphasis. 

"  For  the  time  being,  no  doubt ;  but  soon  you  will  be 
able  to  return  to  it." 

"  I  shall  never  return  to  it." 

Helen  looked  up  quickly.  Armstrong's  words  were 
spoken  so  forcibly  that  they  startled  her. 

"  You  must  go  back  to  it,"  she  replied,  with  equal 
emphasis ;  "  it  is  your  life,  and  you  must  go  back." 

"  I  have  passed  through  the  experience  once  and  for 
all  time." 

Helen  found  it  difficult  not  to  be  affected  by  the  con 
vincing  tone. 

"  I  have  made  more  mistakes  than  you  know  of." 

"  In  your  work,  do  you  mean?" 

"  Yes." 

"  But  this  is  only  the  first  draft ;  you  can  easily  cor 
rect  them." 

"  They  could  be  more  easily  corrected  in  the  book 
than  where  they  are." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  The  mistakes  are  in  me !"  Armstrong  cried.  "  I  am 
no  humanist ;  I  am  an  impostor !" 

"  Jack !  Jack !"  Helen  was  really  alarmed.  "  You 
are  putting  too  much  of  a  tax  upon  yourself.  Remem 
ber,  you  are  not  well  yet." 

"  I  am  worse  than  an  impostor,"  Armstrong  con- 
20  [  305  ] 


THE     SPELL 


tinned,  excitedly,  refusing  to  be  checked :  "  I  am  a 
traitor  to  the  very  cause  I  set  myself  to  further!  I 
have  been  false  in  my  duty  to  it,  as  I  have  been  in  my 
obligations  to  you." 

"  That  is  just  the  point,"  Helen  interrupted.  "  I 
absolved  you  of  your  obligations  to  me  weeks  ago,  so 
that  part  of  it  is  all  settled." 

"  But  I  did  not  absolve  myself.  I  don't  understand 
what  I  did  or  why  I  did  it.  Day  by  day  I  felt  myself 
slipping  further  and  further  away  from  you.  I  was  not 
strong  enough  to  appreciate  what  was  taking  place,  and 
was  powerless  to  resist." 

"  But  I  understood  it  even  then,"  Helen  continued. 
"  I  recognized  that  our  marriage  was  the  first  mistake, 
and  decided  that  I  would  do  my  part  toward  remedying 
the  error  with  as  little  pain  as  possible." 

"  Our  marriage  was  no  mistake,  except  my  own  un- 
fitness  to  be  your  husband !"  Armstrong  cried,  bitterly. 

"  Don't,  Jack,"  Helen  again  pleaded.  "  You  see,  I 
have  had  a  much  longer  time  to  think  the  matter  out." 

"  I  was  all  right  until  I  came  under  the  influence, 
which  completely  changed  me,  just  as  you  told  me  it 
did,  time  and  again.  Then,  instead  of  being  developed 
by  it  as  I  should  have  been,  I  assimilated  nothing  but  its 
limitations  and  began  to  go  backward." 

"  You  must  have  assimilated  far  more  than  that," 
Helen  insisted,  "  for  your  personal  development  through 
it  all  has  been  tremendous.  Otherwise  this  could  not  be." 

"  Listen,  Helen."  Armstrong  was  desperate.  "  Let 
me  tell  you  how  far  down  I  have  gone.  You  know  how 
eager  I  was,  when  we  first  came,  to  accomplish  some 
great  achievement.  You  know  how  much  I  admired  the 
works  and  personalities  of  those  grand  old  characters  of 

[306] 


THE     SPELL 


whom  you  have  so  often  heard  me  speak.  Well,  I  took 
up  my  work.  I  studied  these  characters,  I  wrote  about 
them,  I  tried  to  assimilate  their  principles  and  to  express 
them  in  words.  At  length  the  work  was  finished.  Cerini 
praised  it,  and  I  felt  that  I  had  proved  myself  equal  to 
the  undertaking." 

"  And  so  you  had,"  Helen  interrupted.  "  Cerini  told 
me  so  himself." 

"  Cerini  knows  nothing  of  how  ignominiously  I  failed 
to  apply  these  principles  to  myself.  He  has  read  the 
noble  platitudes  with  which  my  book  is  filled;  you  have 
experienced  the  unworth}'-  personal  expressions  as  they 
have  appeared  in  my  every-day  life." 

"  But  you  have  said  vourself  that  you  could  not  help 
it." 

"  I  should  have  been  able  to ;  that  is  where  I  showed 
my  utter  unfitness  for  the  undertaking.  Now  do  you 
understand?" 

"  Yes,  Jack,"  Helen  replied,  slowly,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  I  think  I  do  understand ;  but  I  also  think  that 
my  understanding  is  clearer  than  yours." 

"  Does  it  not  enable  you  to  forgive  me  for  it  all?" 

"  Yes — I  have  already  told  you  that.  What  you  have 
said  is  exactly  what  I  knew  you  must  say  when  you  had 
been  long  enough  away  from  your  work.  I  have  never 
felt  this  influence  of  which  you  have  so  often  spoken, 
but  I  have  recognized  its  strength  by  what  I  have  seen. 
I  do  not  mean  that  you  need  necessarily  continue  in  your 
present  intensity,  but  I  do  mean  that  whether  you  recog 
nize  it  or  not  this  second  nature  is  your  real  self." 

"  But  I  tell  you  that  I  have  no  further  interest  in 
my  work." 

"  You  think  so,  Jack,  but  you  have  been  away  from 
[307] 


THE    SPELL 


it  for  weeks.  Perhaps  by  returning  home  you  could 
smother  your  love  of  it  for  a  long  time,  but  it  would  be 
there  just  the  same.  And  without  it  you  could  never 
express  your  own  individuality." 

"  I  would,  at  least,  be  the  self  you  knew  before  we 
came  here." 

"  Yes,  but  only  that.  With  all  the  pain,  Jack,  I  have 
not  been  blind  to  what  it  has  done  for  you.  With  all 
the  misapplication  of  the  principles  which  you  mention 
you  have  gained  so  much  that  you  could  never  be  the 
old  self  again.  I  could  not  respect  you  if  you  did. 
Surely  it  would  not  be  following  the  teachings  of  these 
grand  spirits  were  you  to  live  a  life  below  the  standard 
which  you  have  shown  yourself  capable  of  maintaining." 

"  Then  let  us  live  that  life  together,  Helen,"  Arm 
strong  begged ;  "  let  us  begin  all  over  again,  taking  my 
mistakes  as  guiding-posts  to  keep  us  from  the  dangers 
against  which  I  have  not  been  strong  enough,  alone,  to 
guard  myself." 

"  Oh,  Jack !"  Helen  withdrew  her  hands  and  pressed 
them  against  her  tired  temples.  "  Don't  you  see  that 
this  is  simply  repeating  the  mistake  which  has  caused 
all  our  trouble?  Now,  at  this  moment,  we  are  to  each 
other  just  what  we  were  when  we  became  engaged,  for 
getful  of  all  that  has  occurred  since.  Why  not  recog 
nize  things  as  they  really  are,  and  spare  ourselves  the 
added  sorrow  which  must  surely  come?" 

"  Can  you  not  forgive  what  has  happened  since?" 

"  I  have  forgiven  all  that  there  is  to  forgive ;  but  I 
can't  forget  the  knowledge  that  has  come  to  me." 

"  What  knowledge  is  there  which  refuses  to  be  for 
gotten?" 

"  A  knowledge  of  your  real  self,  Jack — and  that  self 
[308] 


THE    SPELL 


has  never  belonged  to  me.  It  is  as  distinct  and  separate 
as  if  it  were  that  of  another  man.  It  has  been  de 
veloped  apart  from  me ;  it  is  of  such  a  nature  that  I  can 
not  become  a  part  of  it." 

"  You  are  so  great  a  part  of  it  already,  dear,  that 
you  could  not  sever  yourself  from  it." 

"  No,  Jack.  It  is  your  loyalty,  your  sense  of  duty, 
that  is  speaking  now.  Or  perhaps  you  are  far  enough 
away  from  what  has  happened  not  to  see  it  as  clearly  as  I 
do.  You  have  become  a  part  of  another  life,  and  your 
future  belongs  to  that  life  and  to  the  woman  who  has 
also  become  a  part  of  it." 

"  You  can't  mean  this,  Helen.  Think  what  you  are 
saying !" 

"  I  do  mean  it,  just  as  I  meant  it  when  I  said  so  before, 
when  you  failed  to  comprehend.  It  is  Inez  who  must 
be  your  companion  in  this  new  life." 

Armstrong  did  not  remonstrate,  as  he  had  done  before. 
It  was  impossible  to  misunderstand  the  conviction  in 
Helen's  voice.  He  could  no  longer  attribute  it  to  jeal 
ousy  or  to  caprice ;  he  could  no  longer  fail  to  under 
stand  the  meaning  of  her  words. 

"  I  have  fully  deserved  all  this,"  he  said,  at  length. 
"  When  you  first  told  me  of  Miss  Thayer's  feeling  tow 
ard  me  I  did  not— I  could  not — believe  it.  Never  once, 
during  all  the  hours  we  were  together,  was  there  any 
thing  to  confirm  what  you  said." 

"  You  did  not  notice  this  any  more  than  you  noticed 
other  things  which  happened,  Jack;  you  were  too  com 
pletely  absorbed.  But  that  does  not  alter  the  fact,  does 
it?" 

"  No ;  the  fact  remains  the  same.  It  has  only  been 
since  the  accident  that  I  have  realized  it;  and  this  is 

[309] 


THE    SPELL 


one  of  the  two  problems  which  I  have  to  straighten 
out." 

"  Then  you  do  know  now  that  Inez  loves  you?" 

Armstrong  bowed  his  head. 

"  What  is  it  that  has  at  last  convinced  you  ?" 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "  It  seems  uncanny, 
Helen,  but  I  have  been  '  seeing  things.' ' 

She  looked  at  him  questioningly.  "  Seeing  things?" 
she  repeated. 

"  Yes ;  you  will  think  I  have  lost  my  mind  again,  just 
as  I  did ;  but  the  doctor  says  it  is  not  unusual.  Inez  was 
alone  with  me,  after  the  accident,  you  know,  in  the  cot 
tage." 

"Well?"  encouraged  Helen,  breathlessly. 

"  She  thought  me  dead,  and — this  is  brutal  to  repeat 
to  you,  Helen." 

"  No,  no — go  on !" 

"  Why,  she  said  she  loved  me — that  is  all." 

"  But  you  were  unconscious,  Jack — you  did  not  know 
what  was  happening." 

"  Not  then,  but  later.  It  came  to  me  yesterday,  while 
lying  on  the  couch, — almost  as  in  a  vision.  I  spoke  to 
the  doctor  about  it,  and  he  said  that  sometimes  such 
things  do  happen.  If  you  had  not  told  me  what  you 
did  "I  probably  should  have  thought  it  nothing  but 
an  uncomfortable  dream,  but  as  it  was,  of  course  I 
understood." 

"  Are  you  sure  now  that  it  was  no  dream?" 

"  Yes ;  I  questioned  Miss  Thayer  about  some  of  the 
details — not  the  most  vital  ones,  of  course — and  she  cor 
roborated  them.  But  telling  you  all  this  will  only  make 
matters  worse." 

"  No,  Jack ;  I  know  about  it  already.     Inez  has  told 
[310] 


THE    SPELL 


me  eve^thing,  and  the  poor  girl  is  distracted.     I  am 
glad  that  at  last  you  are  convinced." 

"You  knew  all  this?"  He  looked  at  her  in  amaze 
ment.  "  You  knew  it,  and  have  let  her  stay  here?" 

"  It  is  right  that  she  should  remain,"  Helen  answered, 
firmly. 

Armstrong's  voice  broke  for  a  moment.  "  And  I  said 
you  were  jealous!"  he  reproached  himself.  Then  he 
continued  his  appeal.  "  But  granting  all  this,  it  can 
not  settle  the  matter,  deeply  as  I  deplore  it.  My  own 
blindness  and  stupidity  are  to  blame  for  it,  and  I  must 
accept  the  full  responsibility;  but  my  love  for  you  has 
never  and  could  never  be  transferred  to  her  or  to  any 
one  else.  I  have  been  criminally  neglectful,  I  have  been 
culpably  dense,  but  through  it  all  you,  and  you  alone, 
have  been  in  my  heart.  I  have  longed  to  say  this  to  you 
even  while  the  spell  was  on  me.  I  have  longed  to  fold  you 
in  my  arms  and  ease  the  pain  I  have  seen  you  suffer,  but 
I  found  myself  powerless  in  this  as  in  all  else.  Can  you 
not — will  you  not — believe  what  I  say?" 

Helen  looked  up  into  her  husband's  face  before  she 
replied. 

"  Sometimes  I  wish  you  were  not  so  conscientious, 
Jack — but  of  course  I  don't  mean  that;  only  it  would 
make  it  easier  for  me  to  adhere  to  my  determination 
to  do  what  I  know  is  right.  I  was  sure  that  this 
moment  would  arrive;  I  know  your  ideas  of  duty  and 
loyalty,  and  I  know  that  you  would  sacrifice  yourself 
and  your  future  rather  than  be  false  to  either.  I  be 
lieve  that  you  are  sincere  in  thinking  that  your  senti 
ments  toward  Inez  are  purely  platonic — I  am  sure  they 
would  be  so  long  as  you  were  not  free  to  have  them 
otherwise." 

[311] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Then  why  do  you  insist  that  they  are  otherwise?" 

"  I  don't  insist — I  am  simply  accepting  things  as  they 
really  are,  even  though  I  must  suffer  by  doing  so.  You 
are  the  only  one  who  does  not  realize  it,  unless  it  be  Inez 
herself.  Cerini  told  me,  '  I  have  never  seen  two  indi 
vidualities  cast  in  so  identical  a  mould.'  Professor  Tesso, 
who  saw  you  at  work  together  at  the  library,  said, '  There 
is  a  perfect  union  of  well-mated  souls  ' ;  you  yourself, 
when  we  returned  from  that  moonlight  ride,  said  to  her, 
'  You  are  the  only  one  who  understands  me.'  It  has 
simply  been  your  absorption  in  your  work  and  your 
loyalty  to  me  which  has  kept  you  from  seeing  it  your 
self." 

"Cerini  said  that  —  Tesso  saw  us  at  the  library?" 
Armstrong  looked  at  Helen  in  bewilderment.  "  You 
thought  my  remark  to  Miss  Thayer  possessed  anything 
more  than  momentary  significance?"  His  face  assumed 
an  expression  of  still  greater  concern.  "  I  have,  indeed, 
been  more  culpable  than  I  realized.  Is  it  not  enough 
if  I  tell  you  that  you  are  all  wrong — that  I  do  not  love 
any  one  except  the  one  person  I  have  a  right  to  love?" 

Helen  smiled  sadly.  "  No,  Jack,"  she  replied,  kindly 
but  firmly,  "  it  is  all  too  clear.  When  you  return  to 
your  real  life,  as  you  must  do,  you  will  return  to  your 
real  self  as  well.  Then  you  will  know  that  I  have  saved 
you  from  the  greatest  mistake  of  all.  You  and  Inez 
are  meant  for  each  other,  and  always  have  been."  She 
looked  up  with  a  brave  but  unsuccessful  attempt  to  smile. 
"  Perhaps  our  little  experience  together  has  been  neces 
sary  in  the  development  of  us  both,  dear.  If  so,  it  will 
make  it  easier  to  believe  that  our  mutual  suffering  will 
not  have  been  in  vain." 

"  I  will  never  accept  it,  Helen !"  cried  Armstrong, 
[312] 


THE    SPELL 


desperately  in  earnest.  "  Your  devotion  to  this  false 
idea  will  do  more  than  all  I  have  done  to  wreck  our 
lives.  You  must  listen  to  reason." 

"  Don't  make  it  any  harder  for  me  than  it  is,"  Helen 
begged,  her  voice  choking.  "  I  am  trying  to  talk  calm 
ly,  and  to  do  what  I  know  I  must  do ;  but  I  have  been 
through  so  much  already.  Please  don't  make  it  any 
harder." 

Armstrong  longed  to  comfort  her,  but  he  knew  that 
she  would  repulse  him  if  he  tried.  He  watched  the  con 
flict  through  which  the  girl  was  passing  and  was  over 
whelmed  by  the  sense  of  his  own  responsibility.  He 
realized  how  near  the  tension  was  to  the  breaking-point, 
and  dared  not  pursue  the  subject  further.  Taking  both 
her  hands  in  his,  he  gazed  long  into  her  eyes  now  filled 
with  tears. 

"  If  to  give  you  up  is  the  necessary  penalty  for  the 
sorrow  I  have  brought  to  you,"  he  said,  quietly,  his 
voice  breaking  as  he  spoke,  "  it  shall  be  done — for  your 
sake,  no  matter  what  it  means  to  me;  but  my  love  for 
you  is  beyond  anything  I  have  ever  known  before." 


XXIX 


THERE  had  been  many  visitors  at  the  villa  during 
Armstrong's  illness  and  convalescence.  Cerini  had 
called  several  times,  being  most  solicitous  for 
the  speedy  recovery  of  his  protege;  and  the  Contessa 
Morelli, temporarily  thwarted  in  the  solution  of  her  prob 
lem,  took  advantage  of  the  proximity  of  her  villa  to  be 
frequently  on  the  spot,  where  she  could  observe  the  prog 
ress  of  affairs  under  the  suddenly  changed  conditions. 

Armstrong  had  long  desired  to  question  the  contessa 
further  in  regard  to  the  disquieting  conversation  he  had 
held  with  her  upon  the  occasion  of  their  first  meeting; 
but  the  rapidity  with  which  his  latent  impressions  had 
become  definite  realities  made  him  unwilling  to  allow  any 
new  developments  to  add  to  the  complexity  of  the  situa 
tion  as  he  had  now  come  to  know  it.  After  his  inter 
view  with  Helen,  however,  he  was  convinced  that  mat 
ters  had  reached  their  climax,  and  he  grasped  any  addi 
tional  information  as  possible  material  to  be  used  in  the 
solving  of  his  double  dilemma.  His  opportunity  came 
on  the  following  day,  when  he  found  himself  alone  with 
the  contessa  upon  the  veranda,  Helen  having  been  called 
to  another  part  of  the  villa  by  some  household  demand. 

After  Helen  had  made  her  excuses,  Armstrong  felt 
himself  to  be  the  subject  of  a  careful  scrutiny  on  the 
part  of  the  contessa.  He  looked  up  quickly  and  met 

[3141 


THE    SPELL 


her  glance  squarely.  Amelie  had  a  way  of  making  those 
she  chose  feel  well  acquainted  with  her,  and  Armstrong, 
during  his  convalescence,  had  proved  interesting. 

"  Well."  he  asked,  smiling,  "  what  do  you  think  of 
him?" 

It  was  the  contessa's  turn  to  smile,  and  the  question 
caught  her  so  unexpectedly  that  the  smile  developed 
into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  make  up  my  mind,"  she  re 
plied,  frankly.  "  At  first  I  thought  him  a  human  think 
ing-machine,  all  head  and  no  heart,  but  I  am  beginning 
to  believe  that  my  early  impressions  were  at  fault." 

"  It  gratifies  me  to  hear  you  say  that,"  Armstrong 
answered,  calmly.  "  I  presume  those  early  impressions 
of  yours  were  formed  at  the  library,  when  Miss  Thayer 
and  I  came  under  your  observation." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  contessa,  unruffled  by  the  quiet 
sarcasm  which  she  could  but  feel.  "  You  see,  I  have 
lived  here  in  Italy  for  several  years  and  have  become  ac 
customed  to  the  sight  of  saint  worship ;  but  it  is  a  novel 
experience  to  see  the  saint  come  down  off  his  pedestal 
and  prove  himself  to  have  perfectly  good  warm  blood 
coursing  through  his  veins." 

"  Don't  you  find  it  a  bit  difficult  to  picture  me  with 
all  my  worldly  attributes  even  as  a  temporary  saint?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  the  contessa  answered.  "  Most  of  the 
saints  possessed  worldly  attributes  before  they  attained 
the  dignity  of  statues.  But  think  of  the  confusion 
among  their  worshippers  should  they  follow  your  ex 
ample  and  again  assume  the  flesh!  I  imagine  their 
embarrassment  would  almost  equal  yours." 

Amelie  spoke  indifferently,  but  Armstrong  felt  the 
thrust.  It  was  evident  that  she  had  no  idea  of  drop- 

[315] 


THE    SPELL 


ping  the  subject,  and  Jack  saw  nothing  else  but  to  ac 
cept  it  as  cheerfully  as  possible. 

"  Why  not  say  '  quite  '  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Because  the  saints  were  wifeless.  Perhaps  that  is 
what  made  it  possible  for  them  to  be  saints." 

Armstrong  laughed  in  spite  of  himself.  "  If  modern 
women  were  to  be  canonized,  you  undoubtedly  think 
they  should  be  selected  from  the  married  class?" 

"  Canonizing  hardly  covers  it,"  the  contessa  replied ; 
"  they  belong  among  the  martyrs." 

"  But  you  have  not  told  me  why  you  now  feel  that 
your  early  impressions  were  in  error,"  Armstrong  re 
sumed,  sensing  danger  along  the  path  which  they  had 
almost  taken,  and  really  eager  to  learn  how  far  his  atti 
tude  had  impressed  others.  The  contessa  regarded  him 
critically. 

"  There  are  many  kinds  of  men,"  she  began,  "  and  to 
a  woman  of  the  world  it  is  a  necessity  to  classify  those 
whom  she  meets." 

"  Indeed  ?"  queried  Armstrong.  "  You  are  throwing 
some  most  interesting  side-lights  upon  a  subject  which 
my  education  has  entirely  overlooked." 

"  Am  I?"  Amelie  asked,  innocently.  "  But  your  edu 
cation  has  been  so  far  developed  in  other  directions  that 
you  can  easily  recognize  the  importance  of  what  I  say. 
A  woman  who  meets  the  world  face  to  face  must  be 
able  to  estimate  the  elements  against  which  she  has  to 
contend." 

"Into  how  many  classes  do  you  divide  us?"  Arm 
strong  was  interested  in  her  nai've  presentment. 

"  The  three  principal  divisions  are,  of  course,  single 
men,  married  men,  and  widowers,  but  the  subdivisions 
are  really  more  important.  For  my  own  use  I  find  it 

[316] 


THE    SPELL 


more  convenient  to  separate  those  I  meet  into  four  classes 
— the  interesting,  the  uninteresting,  the  safe,  and  the 
dangerous." 

"  You  have  developed  an  absolute  system,"  Arm 
strong  asserted. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  Amelie  responded,  cheerfully ;  "  with 
out  one  you  men  would  have  too  distinct  an  advantage 
over  us." 

"  I  wish  you  would  enlarge  on  your  classification  a 
little  more.  It  is  gratif}dng  to  me  to  know  that  mem 
bers  of  my  sex  receive  such  careful  consideration." 

"  Well,  suppose  we  eliminate  the  uninteresting — they 
really  don't  count  except  in  considering  matrimony ;  then 
we  have  to  weigh  the  material  advantages  they  offer 
against  their  lack  of  interest.  This  brings  us  down  to  the 
interesting  and  safe, and  the  interesting  and  dangerous." 

"  Have  I  the  honor  to  be  included  in  one  of  these  two 
classes  ?" 

"  Yes,"  the  contessa  replied,  frankly. 

"  May  I  ask  which?  You  see,  my  curiosity  is  getting 
the  upper  hand." 

Amelie  threw  back  her  head  with  a  hearty  laugh.  "  I 
was  certainly  wrong  in  my  first  diagnosis,"  she  said.  "  A 
man  who  was  merely  a  thinking-machine  would  possess 
no  curiosity.  Usually  a  learned  man  is  entirely  safe." 

"  Then  you  really  consider  me  dangerous  ?"  There 
was  a  tone  in  Armstrong's  voice  which  caused  the  con 
tessa  to  look  up  at  him  quickly. 

"  Most  men  would  consider  that  a  compliment,  Mr. 
Armstrong." 

Receiving  no  reply,  Amelie  continued: 

"  Your  wife  has  such  original  ideas !  I  have  found 
my  acquaintance  with  her  positively  refreshing." 

[317] 


THE    SPELL 


"  How  does  this  bear  upon  our  present  conversation  ?" 
Armstrong  inquired,  still  weighed  down  by  the  contessa's 
estimate  of  him.  Amelie's  frankness  showed  that  no 
doubt  existed  in  her  mind  as  to  his  attitude  toward  Miss 
Thayer,  and  he  felt  that  denials  would  be  worse  than  use 
less.  If  impressions  such  as  these  lay  in  the  mind  of  a 
casual  observer  like  the  contessa  it  was  but  natural  that 
they  should  assume  greater  proportions  to  Helen ;  and  it 
was  with  a  foreboding  that  he  heard  her  name  mentioned 
in  the  present  conversation.  Amelie,  however,  could  not 
sense  the  effect  of  her  words  upon  her  companion. 

"  Because  we  once  discussed  the  same  subject,"  she 
replied  to  his  question,  "  and  her  attitude  was  most  un 
usual.  She  even  said  that  were  she  convinced  that  her 
husband  really  loved  some  other  woman  she  would  step 
aside  and  give  him  a  clear  field." 

"  Did  she  say  that  ?"  Armstrong  demanded. 

"  She  did,"  asserted  the  contessa.  "  You  are  a  very 
lucky  man,  Mr.  Armstrong,"  she  continued,  looking  into 
his  face  meaningly ;  "  my  husband  is  not  so  fortunate." 

While  Armstrong  hesitated  in  order  to  make  no  mis 
take  in  his  reply,  Helen  returned  accompanied  by  Cerini, 
and  the  moment  when  he  could  have  formulated  an  an 
swer  had  passed.  The  old  man  held  up  a  finger  re 
proachfully  as  he  saw  the  contessa. 

"  You  have  never  made  another  appointment  to  study 
those  manuscripts  with  me,"  he  said,  as  he  took  her  hand. 
"  Tell  me  that  your  interest  has  not  flagged." 

The  librarian  spoke  feelingly,  although  he  tried  to 
conceal  his  disappointment.  It  was  such  a  triumph  that 
his  work  should  appeal  to  one  so  devoted  to  a  life  of  so 
cial  gayety.  Amelie  remembered  her  interview  with  him 
at  the  library  and  felt  that  she  deserved  the  reproach. 

[318] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Surely  not,"  she  replied,  with  so  much  apparent 
sincerity  in  her  voice  that  the  old  man  believed  her  and 
was  mollified.  "  I  have  even  received  a  new  impetus  from 
listening  to  Mr.  Armstrong's  enthusiastic  account  of  his 
work  with  you  and  his  impatience  to  return  to  it." 

Armstrong  glanced  quickly  at  Helen  as  the  contessa 
attributed  to  him  a  desire  so  opposed  to  the  definite  state 
ment  he  had  made  the  day  before,  while  Cerini  smiled 
contentedly.  Helen  gave  no  sign  of  having  particularly 
noticed  the  remark,  but  Jack  felt  keenly  his  inability  at 
that  moment  to  set  himself  right. 

"  I  was  just  about  to  take  my  departure,"  Amelie 
continued,  "  and  I  am  glad  not  to  be  obliged  to  leave  the 
invalid  alone.  I  know  how  delighted  you  will  be  to  take 
my  place,"  she  said  to  Cerini. 

The  old  man  dropped  into  the  chair  the  contessa  left 
vacant,  while  Armstrong  Matched  the  two  figures  until 
they  disappeared  in  the  hallway.  Then  he  turned  to  his 
friend — but  it  was  to  Cerini  the  priest,  the  father-con 
fessor,  rather  than  to  Cerini  the  librarian.  He  felt  the 
seriousness  of  the  situation  more  acutely  than  at  any 
time  since  a  realization  of  its  complexity  came  to  him. 
Cerini  watched  him  curiously. 

"  You  are  not  so  well  to  -  day,"  he  said,  at  length. 
"  You  must  go  slowly,  my  son,  and  give  Nature  ample 
time  to  make  her  repairs." 

"  I  fear  even  Nature  has  no  remedy  sufficiently  power 
ful  to  cure  my  malady,"  Armstrong  replied,  bitterly. 
"  I  would  to  God  she  had  !" 

Cerini  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  his  manner  or  his 
words. 

"What  has  happened?"  he  asked,  sympathetically. 
"  Is  there  some  complication  of  which  I  know  not  ?" 

[319] 


THE    SPELL 


Armstrong  bowed  his  head,  overcome  for  the  moment 
by  an  overwhelming  sense  of  his  own  impotency. 

"  What  is  it?"  urged  the  old  man,  himself  affected  by 
his  companion's  attitude.  "  I  have  missed  you  sadly  at 
the  library  these  weeks,  and  I  am  impatient  for  your 
return." 

"  I  shall  never  return !"  cried  Armstrong,  fiercely.  "  I 
have  proved  myself  utterly  unworthy  of  the  work  I  un 
dertook  with  you." 

"  My  son !  my  son !"  Cerini  was  aghast  at  what  he 
heard.  Then  his  voice  softened  as  he  thought  he  divined 
the  explanation. 

"  Slowly,  slowly,"  he  said,  soothingly.  "  It  is  too  soon 
to  put  so  heavy  a  burden  upon  your  brain  after  the 
shock  it  has  sustained.  There  is  no  haste.  Your  friends 
at  the  library  will  be  patient,  as  you  must  be." 

Armstrong  easily  read  what  was  passing  through  the 
librarian's  mind,  and  it  increased  his  bitterness  against 
himself.  Cerini's  calmness,  however,  quieted  him,  and 
he  was  more  contained  as  he  replied. 

"  I  wish  that  the  facts  were  as  you  think,"  he  said, 
decisively.  "  It  would  be  a  positive  relief  to  me  if  I 
could  believe  that  my  mind  was  still  unbalanced  as  a 
result  of  the  accident,  but  it  is  so  nearly  recovered  that 
I  must  consider  myself  practically  well.  But  I  am  glad 
of  this  chance  to  tell  you  how  we  have  both  been  de 
ceived.  It  will  be  a  comfort  to  have  you  act  as  my 
confessor,  and  if  your  affection  still  holds  after  my  re 
cital  I  know  that  you  will  advise  me  as  to  what  future 
course  I  must  pursue." 

In  tense,  clear-cut  sentences  Armstrong  poured  out 
to  Cerini  the  story  of  the  past  months  as  he  looked  back 
upon  them.  He  was  frank  in  speaking  of  what  he  be- 

[320] 


THE     SPELL 


lieved  to  be  his  accomplishments,  as  he  was  pitiless  in 
his  arraignment  of  himself  in  his  failures.  He  showed 
how  he  had  assimilated  the  lessons  of  the  past  only  in 
his  capacity  of  scribe ;  he  explained  how  self  -  centred, 
selfish,  and  neglectful  of  his  duty  toward  others  he  had 
been  in  his  personal  life.  He  spoke  freely  of  his  com 
panionship  with  Miss  Thayer,  of  her  unquestioned  af 
fection  for  him,  and  of  the  impressions  which  had  been 
made  upon  Helen  and  the  Contcssa  Morelli.  He  insisted 
simply  yet  forcefully  upon  his  own  loyalty  to  Helen,  not 
from  a  sense  of  duty,  as  she  firmly  believed,  but  because 
his  devotion  had  never  wavered. 

In  speaking  of  his  wife  Armstrong  went  into  minute 
detail,  even  going  back  to  his  early  attempts  to  inter 
est  her  in  what  had  later  become  his  grand  passion.  He 
described  her  personal  attributes,  her  love  of  the  pres 
ent  rather  than  the  past,  her  protective  attitude  toward 
jher  friend  even  in  the  face  of  such  distressing  circum 
stances  ;  her  generosity  toward  him ;  and  finally  her  un 
alterable  conviction  that  their  separation  was  imperative. 

Cerini  listened  in  breathless  silence  as  Armstrong's 
story  progressed.  He  himself  had  played  a  part  in  the 
drama  of  which  his  companion  was  ignorant,  and  a  sense 
of  his  own  responsibility  came  to  the  old  man  with  subtle 
force.  He  recalled  his  first  meeting  with  Helen  at  the 
library,  he  remembered  their  later  conversations,  and  in 
his  contemplations  he  almost  forgot,  for  the  moment, 
the  man  sitting  in  front  of  him  in  his  consideration  of 
the  splendid  development,  which  he  had  witnessed  with 
out  fully  realizing  it,  in  this  woman  whom  he  had  pro 
nounced  unfitted  by  nature  to  enter  into  this  side  of  her 
husband's  work,  as  she  had  longed  to  do.  Now,  as  a 
result  of  his  lack  of  foresight,  she  proposed  to  eliminate 
21  [  321  ] 


THE    SPELL 


herself  from  what  she  considered  to  be  her  husband's 
problem.  "  It  has  been  more  far-reaching  than  even 
you  realize,"  she  had  said  to  him  at  the  reception  at 
Villa  Godilombra,  and  this  was  what  she  had  meant. 

It  was  several  moments  after  Armstrong  ceased  speak 
ing  before  Cerini  raised  his  eyes,  and  to  Jack's  surprise 
he  saw  that  they  were  filled  with  tears.  He  naturally 
attributed  it  to  the  librarian's  affection  for  him  and  his 
sympathy  for  his  sorrow. 

"  I  should  not  have  told  you  this,  padre,"  he  said, 
sadly,  pressing  the  hand  which  the  old  man  laid  ten 
derly  upon  his.  "  The  fault  is  mine,  and  I  should  not 
try  to  shirk  the  full  responsibility  by  sharing  it  with 
you." 

"  It  is  mine  to  share  with  you,  my  son,"  Cerini  replied, 
firmly.  "  You  have  erred,  as  you  state.  You  have  been 
to  blame  for  not  giving  out  again,  as  the  example  of  the 
master-spirits  of  the  past  should  have  taught  you,  those 
glorious  lessons  which  impart  the  joy  of  living  to  those 
who  give  as  well  as  to  those  who  receive.  But  my  error 
is  even  heavier.  I  have  lived  all  my  life  in  this  atmos 
phere,  drinking  in  the  knowledge  and  the  spirit  which 
have  come  to  you  only  within  the  past  few  months ;  yet 
I  failed  to  recognize  in  your  wife  the  natural  embodi 
ment  of  all  that  the  best  in  humanism  teaches.  What 
you  and  I  have  endeavored  to  assimilate  she  has  felt 
and  expressed  as  naturally  as  she  has  breathed.  She 
has  shown  us  humanism  in  its  highest  development,  puri 
fied  and  strengthened  by  her  own  fine  nature,  even  though 
we  have  given  her  no  opportunity  for  expression.  Thank 
God  we  have  recognized  it  at  last !" 

"  You  really  believe  that  ?"  cried  Armstrong,  recall 
ing  his  own  earlier  and  less-defined  conviction. 

[322] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Beyond  a  doubt,"  Ccrini  answered.  "  Let  us  find 
her,  that  we  may  tell  her  what  a  victory  she  has  won." 

Armstrong  placed  a  restraining  hand  upon  the  old 
man's  arm.  "  Not  yet,"  he  said,  gently  but  firmly. 
"  There  is  much  still  to  be  done  to  prepare  her  for  this 
knowledge.  At  present  she  would  not  accept  it." 

"  We  must  convince  her." 

"  First  of  all  I  must  make  my  peace  with  Miss 
Thayer,"  Armstrong  replied.  "  Until  that  complication 
is  relieved  there  is  no  hope." 

"  Do  you  feel  strong  enough  for  that?"  asked  Cerini, 
anxiously. 

"  It  requires  more  than  strength,  padre,"  Armstrong 
replied,  seriously ;  "  it  requires  faith  in  myself,  which 
at  present  is  sadly  lacking." 

The  old  man  rose  and  stood  for  a  moment  beside  Arm 
strong's  half-reclining  figure.  Bending  oj°wn>  ne  took 
jfc  his  face  in  his  hands  and  looked  full  into  his  eyes. 

"  Let  me  give  you  that  faith,"  he  said,  affectionately. 
"  You  have  already  learned  by  sad  experience  that  you 
are  not  the  master  of  Fate.  Let  me  tell  you  that  by  the 
same  token  you  are  not  the  victim  of  Fate.  Nature,  un 
erring  in  her  wisdom,  is  now  giving  you  the  privilege  of 
being  co-partner  with  her  in  the  final  solving  of  your 
great  personal  problem.  Accept  the  offered  oppor 
tunity,  my  son,  and  show  yourself  finally  worthy  of  it." 


XXX 


HELEN  had  not  overlooked  the  contessa's  remark 
to  Cerini,  even  though  she  gave  no  evidence  at 
the  time  of  having  heard  it.  Her  conversation 
with  Jack  had  given  her  thoughts  much  food  to  feed 
upon.  His  words  were  so  welcome,  after  the  long  breach, 
his  manner  so  sincere,  that  she  had  been  nearer  to  the 
yielding-point  than  he  imagined.  She  had  wondered  if, 
after  all,  her  attitude  was  justified,  in  view  of  his  ex 
pressed  desire  to  return  to  the  same  relations  which  had 
previously  given  them  both  such  happiness.  Jack's 
statement  that  her  insistence  upon  the  present  condi 
tions  would  do  more  to  wreck  their  happiness  than  any 
thing  which  he  had  done,  made  its  impression  upon  her. 
Nothing  but  the  previous  intensity  of  her  conviction 
that  she  must  yield  her  place  to  Inez  had  held  her  to  the 
self-appointed  duty  which  she  found  so  difficult  to  per 
form. 

When  the  contessa  repeated  to  Cerini  what  appeared 
to  be  an  expression  of  her  husband's  impatience  to  re 
turn  to  his  work  Helen  felt  all  hesitation  vanish.  Jack 
sympathized  with  her  suffering,  and  would  do  all  which 
lay  in  his  power  to  make  amends.  She  knew  that  he 
would  give  up  all  idea  of  future  work,  no  matter  at  what 
sacrifice  to  himself,  rather  than  add  another  straw  to  the 
burden  which  he  now  saw  was  nearly  bearing  her  down. 

[324] 


THE    SPELL 


Yet  the  affection  which  she  felt  for  him  refused  to  be 
strangled.  His  very  insistence,  even  though  she  was 
convinced  that  it  was  prompted  by  his  sense  of  duty, 
fanned  the  embers  into  flame  at  a  time  when  she  was  cer 
tain  that  at  last  their  fire  had  become  extinct.  It  was 
further  evidence  of  her  weakness,  she  told  herself,  and 
she  would  make  superhuman  efforts  to  adhere  to  the 
duty  which  lay  plainly  enough  before  her. 

As  she  was  leaving,  the  contessa  placed  her  arm  about 
Helen's  waist  and  whispered  to  her: 

"  Don't  think  me  meddlesome,  my  dear,  but  you  will 
make  a  great  mistake  not  to  stick  close  beside  that  big, 
splendid  husband  of  yours.  They  all  do  it,  and  I  im 
agine  he  has  been  almost  circumspect  compared  with 
most  of  them.  Send  the  girl  away  and  see  if  you  can't 
make  him  forget  his  affinity.  He  is  worth  the  effort,  my 
dear — believe  me,  he  is  worth  the  effort." 

Helen  was  so  taken  by  surprise  by  the  contessa's 
words  that  she  stood  speechless,  looking  at  her  with 
dull,  lifeless  eyes  as  she  stepped  into  the  tonneau  and 
waved  a  smiling  farewell  as  the  motor-car  rolled  out  of 
the  court-yard.  So  the  contessa  was  aware  of  the  situa 
tion,  and  was  also  convinced  of  Jack's  attachment  for 
Inez !  This  was  too  horrible  —  she  could  not  endure 
it !  Matters  must  be  brought  to  a  head  soon  or  she 
would  die  of  mortification !  She  could  not  return  to  the 
veranda  where  she  had  left  Cerini  and  Jack  together, 
but  went  up-stairs  to  her  room,  where  she  locked  the 
door  and  threw  herself  upon  the  bed  in  a  paroxysm  of 
tears. 

Armstrong,  on  the  contrary,  had  gained  strength 
from  Cerini's  sympathy.  He  would  accept  the  offered 
opportunity  and  see  if  at  last  he  could  not  prove  him- 

[325] 


THE    SPELL 


self  worthy  of  such  glorious  co-partnership.  Unlike  his 
previous  efforts,  if  he  succeeded  it  would  tend  to  restore 
Helen's  happiness  as  well,  and  this  gave  him  an  added 
incentive. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  before  he  was 
able  to  make  his  opportunity.  Inez  had  taken  a  book 
and  secreted  herself  in  Helen's  "  snuggery  "  in  the  gar 
den,  but  Armstrong's  watchful  eyes  followed  her.  Wait 
ing  until  she  had  time  to  become  well  settled,  he  strolled 
around  the  garden,  finally  appearing  at  the  entrance  to 
prevent  her  escape.  To  his  surprise  she  made  no  such 
effort,  and  appeared  more  at  ease  than  at  any  time  since 
the  accident. 

"Have  you  come  to  join  me?"  she  asked,  with  much 
of  her  former  bearing. 

"  If  I  may,"  he  replied,  advancing  to  the  scat  and 
taking  the  place  she  made  for  him  beside  her. 

"  How  famously  you  are  getting  on !"  she  said,  lay 
ing  down  the  volume ;  "  you  are  more  like  yourself  than 
I  have  seen  you  since  the  awful  accident." 

"  If  I  may  say  so,"  Armstrong  replied,  watching  her 
closely,  "  I  was  just  thinking  the  same  of  you." 

Inez  flushed.  "  You  are  right,"  she  answered,  frank 
ly,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

Armstrong  was  distinctly  relieved  by  her  unexpected 
attitude.  As  he  looked  back  he  realized  that  there  had 
been  a  change  in  her  bearing  toward  him,  particularly 
during  the  past  week ;  but  until  now  he  had  not  ap 
preciated  how  rapidly  her  unnatural  manner  had  been 
returning  to  what  it  was  during  the  early  days  of  their 
acquaintance.  The  apparent  effort  to  avoid  him  had 
disappeared,  although  he  knew  of  no  more  reason  for 
this  than  he  had  originally  seen  cause  for  its  existence. 

[326] 


THE    SPELL 


Whatever  the  reason,  the  change  had  undoubtedly  taken 
place,  and  it  made  matters  easier  for  him. 

"  We  have  passed  through  much  together,  Miss 
Thayer,"  he  began.  "  I  wonder  if  we  realize  how 
much." 

"  It  has  certainly  been  an  unusual  experience,"  she 
admitted.      "  I  expressed  this  to  you  at  the  library — 
do  you  remember?    As  I  said  then,  it  could  hardly  occur 
again." 

"  I  appreciate  that  now,"  Armstrong  replied,  in  a  low 
voice ;  "  at  that  time  I  do  not  think  I  did." 

"  There  was  much  which  you  could  not  appreciate 
then,"  continued  Inez ;  "  and  as  I  look  back  upon  it 
there  is  much  which  I  cannot  explain  to  myself.  In 
fact,  there  is  a  great  deal  that  I  blame  myself  for." 

"  The  blame  belongs  to  me,  Miss  Thayer,"  Armstrong 
asserted,  firmly. 

"  For  being  away  from  Helen  so  much  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  for  many  other  acts  of  selfishness  and 
neglect.  I  am  to  blame  for  all  that  you  feel  against 
yourself." 

"Against  myself?"  Inez  repeated. 

Armstrong  paused  long  before  he  continued.  "  You 
have  passed  through  this  spell  with  me,"  he  said,  at 
length.  "  You,  better  than  any  one  else,  know  its  power, 
and  can  understand  the  cause  of  my  attitude  toward  you 
and  Plelen,  which  was  as  inexplicable  as  it  was  unpar 
donable.  And  because  you  understand  this  I  believe 
that  I  shall  find  you  the  more  ready  to  forgive." 

"  There  is  nothing  for  which  you  stand  in  need  of  my 
forgiveness,"  Inez  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  On  the  con 
trary,  there  is  much  for  which  I  have  to  thank  you.  It 
was  a  new  world  to  which  vou  introduced  me — one  which 

[327] 


THE    SPELL 


I  should  not  otherwise  have  known;  and  having  known 
it,  nothing  can  ever  take  it  from  me." 

"  If  matters  had  only  stopped  there,"  Armstrong 
continued,  "  I  should  have  accomplished  just  what  I  had 
hoped  to  do.  The  fascination  of  the  work  so  held  me, 
and  my  desire  to  further  the  principles  which  seemed  to 
me  to  represent  all  which  made  life  worth  the  living 
resulted  in  blinding  me  to  the  possibility  that  you, 
perhaps,  were  not  affected  to  a  similar  degree.  Your 
assistance  was  so  valuable,  your  companionship  so  con 
genial  that  I  never  once  realized  that  I  was  running  any 
risk  of  not  performing  my  full  duty  toward  you  as  well 
as  toward  Helen." 

Inez  could  not  fail  to  comprehend  the  import  of  his 
words,  and  a  feeling  of  thankfulness  passed  over  her 
that  this  conversation  had  not  come  earlier.  The  days 
which  had  passed  since  she  confided  to  Helen  the  secret 
which  she  had  so  long  carried  alone  had,  in  their  way, 
been  as  full  of  chaotic  conditions  as  had  Armstrong's ; 
yet  it  was  but  recently  that  she  had  come  to  realize  the 
full  importance  of  what  had  really  happened.  The  days 
at  the  library,  as  she  looked  back  upon  them,  seemed  as 
a  dream.  She  could  close  her  eyes  and  bring  back  the 
intoxication  of  those  moments  alone  with  Armstrong  in 
which  she  had  silently  revelled,  while  he  had  applied 
himself  to  the  task  before  him  unconscious  of  what  was 
taking  place.  She  could  not  deny  herself  the  guilty 
pleasure  of  recalling  them,  yet  little  by  little  these 
thoughts  had  become  disassociated  from  the  man  with 
whom  she  now  came  in  almost  hourly  contact.  With 
this  disassociation  came  a  welcome  relief.  The  dread 
which  she  had  felt  of  seeing  him  and  hearing  his  voice 

disappeared  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come.     She  wondered 

[328] 


THE    SPELL 


at  it,  but  she  accepted  it  eagerly  without  waiting  for 
an  explanation. 

With  her  return  to  more  normal  conditions  her  solici 
tude  for  Helen  increased.  She  was  conscious  of  her 
friend's  unhappiness,  yet  she,  perhaps,  of  all  the  house 
hold,  was  least  aware  of  the  extent  of  the  breach  between 
her  and  Armstrong.  Helen,  naturally  perhaps,  had  con 
fined  her  conversation  upon  this  subj  ect  to  Uncle  Peabody 
and  her  husband,  so  Inez  had  no  thought  other  than 
that  all  would  straighten  itself  out  now  that  Jack  had 
become  himself  again.  She  had  believed  that  Helen 
alone  shared  her  secret  with  her,  so  it  was  with  surprise 
and  mortification  that  she  became  aware  that  Armstrong 
himself  knew  of  what  had  taken  place.  This  was  even 
more  of  an  ordeal  to  face  than  when  she  made  her  con 
fession  to  Helen,  yet  it  was  one  which  ought  to  be  met 
with  absolute  frankness. 

"  I  understand  what  you  mean,"  she  replied,  the  color 
still  showing  in  her  face,  "  and  I  am  glad  that  this  op 
portunity  has  come  for  me  to  speak  freely,  even  at  the 
risk  of  losing  your  esteem.  It  is  quite  true  that  I,  too, 
found  myself  beneath  a  spell — but  besides  this  one  which 
influenced  you  there  was  also  another  and  a  different 
one.  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  be  ashamed  to  say 
that  this  other  spell  was  unconsciously  exerted  by  a  great 
scholar,  a  noble  friend,  a  loyal  husband.  The  effect  of 
it  was  for  a  time  overpowering,  but  now  I  can  acknowl 
edge  it  without  injuring  any  one  and  express  my  grati 
tude  for  an  influence  which  must  always  act  for  my  best 
good." 

"  Miss  Thayer !"  Armstrong  cried,  overwhelmed  by 
the  revulsion  which  the  girl's  words  brought  to  him. 
"  I  beg  of  you  not  to  make  virtues  out  of  my  errors ; 

[329] 


THE    SPELL 


I  cannot  accept  a  tribute  such  as  that,  knowing  myself 
to  be  unworthy  of  it.  Can  you  not  see  that  I  should 
have  guarded  you  from  that  spell,  both  for  your  sake 
and  for  Helen's?" 

Inez  smiled  in  real  happiness  that  the  break  had  at 
last  been  made.  "  You  have  given  me  far  more  than 
you  have  taken  away,  dear  friend,"  she  replied,  grate 
fully  ;  "  now  that  the  experience  is  past  I  appreciate  it 
more  than  ever.  But  promise  me  that  you  will  not  give 
up  this  work  because  of  what  we  all  have  been  through." 

Armstrong  shook  his  head.  "  I  shall  not  take  such 
chances  again,"  he  said. 

"  It  could  never  repeat  itself,"  Inez  urged.  "  Be 
cause  one  has  been  wounded  by  the  thorn  he  failed  to 
see  is  no  reason  why  he  should  never  pluck  another  rose." 

"  But  suppose  that  in  plucking  the  rose  something 
fell  out  from  next  the  heart  which  was  inexpressibly  dear 
to  him  and  was  lost  forever?" 

Inez  looked  up  quickly.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  Helen  insists  upon  a  separa 
tion?" 

"  A  separation !"  Inez  repeated,  rising  to  her  feet ; 
"  why,  she  worships  you !  Surely  there  is  some  mistake." 

"  No ;  she  is  convinced  that  our  marriage  was  ail 
wrong,  and  that  she  stands  between  me  and  the  con 
tinuance  of  this  work,  which  she  argues  is  essential  for 
my  development  and  happiness.  It  is  ridiculous,  of 
course,  but  I  cannot  move  her.' 

"  She  is  right  about  the  work,"  the  girl  said,  decided 
ly  ;  "  but  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  better  fitted  to 
enter  into  it  with  you  than  she,  if  she  but  knew  it.  As 
I  said,  you  will  never  take  it  up  in  the  same  way  again, 

[330] 


THE    SPELL 


but  having  learned  what  it  means  you  can  never  elimi 
nate  it  from  your  life;  and  this  should  draw  you  and 
Helen  even  closer  together." 

"  My  one  remaining  labor  is  to  convince  her  of  this," 
Armstrong  replied,  feelingly. 

"  And  I  will  help  you  do  it." 

Armstrong  looked  at  her  steadily  for  a  momjent. 
'  There  is  another  point  upon  which  she  insists,  of 
which  I  have  not  told  you,"  he  said. 

Inez  waited  for  him  to  continue. 

"  She  believes  that  you  and  I  are  foreordained  for 
each  other,"  Armstrong  said,  bluntly,  "  and  she  pro 
poses  to  step  aside  to  make  the  realization  of  this  pos 
sible." 

The  girl  gazed  at  her  companion  in  silent  amazement. 
So  this  was  the  cause  of  Helen's  suffering — this  was  the 
price  she  was  willing  to  pay  as  a  tribute  to  her  friend 
ship  for  her  and  her  love  for  her  husband ! 

"  The  brave,  brave  girl !"  Inez  cried,  almost  overcome 
by  her  emotion.  "  I  must  make  her  understand  that  the 
Jack  Armstrong  I  loved  was  killed  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill  of  Settignano.  Dear,  dear  Helen !  it  is  now  my 
privilege  to  give  her  back  her  happiness  as  she  gave 
me  back  mine !" 


XXXI 


IT  had  been  to  Uncle  Peabody  that  Helen  had  turned 
during  all  this  period,  but  it  was  for  comfort  and 
strength  rather  than  for  advice.  The  problem  was 
hers,  and  she  alone  must  finally  solve  it.  She  had 
thought  it  settled  until  her  conversation  with  Jack, 
which  caused  a  momentary  wavering.  She  repeated 
Armstrong's  words  to  Uncle  Peabody,  and  his  abso 
lute  conviction  that  her  husband's  present  attitude  was 
a  normal  and  final  expression  encouraged  her  to  question 
whether  there  might  not  be  some  other  solution  than  the 
one  upon  which  she  had  determined.  Still,  it  was  only 
a  questioning ;  as  yet  she  was  unprepared  to  share  Uncle 
Peabody's  conviction. 

"  Don't  lean  too  far  backward,"  he  had  said  to  her, 
"  in  your  efforts  to  stand  by  your  principles.  I  have 
seen  things  which  were  called  principles  at  first  become 
tyrants  and  do  damage  out  of  all  proportion  to  the 
good  they  would  have  done  had  the  conditions  not 
changed." 

"  It  is  the  conditions  I  am  watching,  uncle,"  Helen 
had  replied.  "  I  have  no  '  principles,'  as  you  call  them, 
which  will  not  joyfully  yield  themselves.  I  must  not — 
I  will  not — stand  in  the  way  either  of  Jack's  happiness 
or  of  his  development.  If  I  can  make  myself  see  any 

way  bv  which  we  can  stay  together  without  accomplish- 

[332] 


THE     SPELL 


ing  one  or  the  other  of  these  mistakes,  God  knows  how 
eagerly  I  will  again  pick  up  the  thread  of  life." 

Uncle  Pcabody  had  folded  her  in  his  great  arms  again, 
as  he  had  done  so  many  times  lately. 

"  People  have  sometimes  told  me  that  I  am  a  phi 
losopher,"  he  said,  huskily.  "  They  have  seen  me  meet 
death  in  a  dear  friend,  or  even  one  closer  to  me,  with 
calmness,  sending  the  departed  spirit  a  wireless  '  bon- 
voyage '  message  and  considering  the  incident  as  fort 
unate,  as  if  he  had  received  a  promotion.  But  when 
I  see  one  as  dear  to  me  as  you  are,  gasping  for  breath  in 
what  has  seemed  to  be  a  hopeless  and  prolonged  strug 
gle  for  that  life  which  love  alone  can  give  you,  I  must 
confess  that  my  stock  of  philosophy,  such  as  it  is,  seems 
sadly  inadequate." 

Now  had  come  the  necessity  of  repeating  to  him  what 
the  contessa  had  said,  which  gave  Helen  double  pain, 
knowing,  as  she  did,  how  much  relief  her  last  conversa 
tion  had  given  him. 

"  I  can't  believe  it,  Helen,"  Uncle  Peabody  said,  de 
cisively.  "  Whatever  else  one  may  say  of  Jack  Arm 
strong,  he  is  honest,  and  I  can't  believe  him  insincere 
in  what  he  said  to  you." 

"  It  is  not  insincerity,  dear,"  she  replied,  wearily. 
"  He  is  trying  to  deceive  himself. — What  is  it,  An- 
netta?"  she  asked,  almost  petulantly,  of  the  maid  as  she 
approached. 

"  Monsignor  Cerini —  "  began  the  maid. 

"  Mr.  Armstrong  is  on  the  veranda,"  Helen  inter 
rupted. 

"  But  he  asks  for  the  madama." 

"  For  me?"  Helen  was  incredulous.  "  Show  him  out 
here,  Annetta." 

[333] 


The  librarian's  face  beamed  genially  as  he  greeted 
her  and  Uncle  Peabody. 

"  Has  the  maid  not  made  a  mistake  ?"  Helen  asked. 
"  Is  it  not  our  invalid  whom  you  wish  to  see?" 

"  No,  my  daughter,  it  is  you  whom  I  seek.  I  have 
come  to  make  a  full  though  long-delayed  acknowledg 
ment." 

Helen  glanced  over  to  Uncle  Peabody,  thoroughly 
mystified. 

"  Your  husband  and  I  were  talking  of  you  yester 
day,"  he  continued,  "  and  we  both  are  deeply  concerned 
to  find  how  erroneous  have  been  our  estimates  and  how 
slow  we  have  been  to  recognize  the  truth." 

So.  Jack  had  sent  him  to  plead  his  cause,  Helen  told 
herself,  and  in  her  heart  she  resented  the  interference. 
It  was  unlike  him  to  intrust  so  important  a  matter  as 
this  to  another,  yet  perhaps  it  was  a  further  evidence 
of  the  new  conditions. 

"  Shall  I  not  leave  you  to  yourselves  ?"  queried  Uncle 
Peabody. 

"  By  no  means !"  Cerini  cried,  hastily.  "  It  is  most 
fitting  that  you  should  hear  what  I  am  about  to  say. 
Do  you  remember  the  first  day  I  met  you  at  the 
library?"  he  continued,  addressing  his  question  to 
Helen. 

She  closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  an  involuntary 
shadow  of  pain  passed  over  her  face  as  she  replied, 
quietly : 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  over  forget  it  ?" 

Cerini  saw  it  all,  and  it  touched  him  deeply.  "  I  was 
unkind  to  you  that  day,  my  daughter — even  cruel.  I 
thought  I  understood,  but  later  events  have  shown  me 

that  mv  judgment  led  me  far  astray." 

[334] 


SO  JACK    HAD   SENT   HIM    TO    PLEAD    HIS    CAUSE.    HELEN 

TOLD    HERSELF;     AND     IN     HER     HEART    SHE    RESENTED 

THE     INTERFERENCE 


THE    SPELL 


The  old  man  had  come  to  a  realization  at  last !  This, 
at  all  events,  was  a  comfort  to  her. 

"  Only  in  part,"  she  replied,  trying  to  speak  cheer 
fully.  "  The  character-building  was  going  on  just  as 
you  said." 

"  It  was,"  Cerini  said,  forcefully — "  to  a  greater  ex 
tent,  I  believe,  than  any  one  of  us  knew.  My  only  ex 
cuse  is  that  I  was  possessed  with  a  preconceived  idea — 
the  very  thing  which  I  so  much  object  to  in  others." 

"  I  don't  think  I  quite  understand,"  Helen  replied. 
"  Do  you  mean  that,  after  all  his  efforts,  my  husband  is 
right  in  his  conviction  that  his  work  has  been  a  failure?" 

"  It  is  not  of  your  husband  that  I  am  thinking  now," 
the  librarian  answered ;  "  it  is  of  myself — and  you." 

"  Of  me?"  Helen  was  genuinely  surprised.  "  But 
I  have  never  entered  into  the  consideration  at  all,  where 
the  work  at  the  library  was  concerned." 

"  You  should  have  done  so;  that  is  just  the  point." 

"  I  wanted  to,"  Helen  cried ;  "  but  you  told  me  that 
I  was  quite  incapable  of  doing  so." 

"  I  know  I  did,"  replied  the  librarian,  bowing  his 
head ;  "  and  that  is  where  I  made  my  great  mistake." 

"  It  would  have  stopped  their  work  where  it  was — 
you  said  so  yourself." 

Cerini  again  bowed  his  head.  "  All  part  of  the  same 
mistake,"  he  admitted.  "  Had  I  encouraged  you  at  that 
time  you  would  not  only  have  added  much  to  the  work 
itself,  but  you  would  have  saved  your  husband  from  his 
own  great  error.  I  have  been  much  to  blame,  my  daugh 
ter,  and  you  must  not  hold  him  responsible  for  a  fault 
which  is  really  mine." 

Helen  tried  to  fathom  what  was  in  the  old  man's  mind. 
She  could  not  question  his  sincerity,  yet  his  words 

[335] 


THE    SPELL 


seemed  a  mockery.  Jack  had  evidently  taken  him  freely 
into  his  confidence,  so  there  was  no  reason  why  she  should 
not  speak  freely. 

"  Mr.  Armstrong  has  apparently  told  you  how  un 
fortunately  his  experience  has  ended  in  its  effect  upon 
our  personal  relations.  Knowing  this,  I  am  sure  you 
would  not  intentionally  wound  me  further  by  seeking  to 
restore  matters  to  a  false  basis ;  yet  I  can  understand 
your  words  in  no  other  way.  As  you  said  of  my  hus 
band,  that  day  in  the  library,  this  time  it  is  your  heart 
and  not  your  head  which  finds  expression." 

The  librarian  gasped  with  apprehension.  "  Daugh 
ter  !  daughter !"  he  cried,  "  have  I  not  made  myself 
clear!  Then  let  me  do  so  now  before  any  possible  mis 
understanding  can  enter  in.  I  am  a  humanist  by  pro 
fession — until  now  I  believed  myself  a  modern  humanist. 
When  I  first  knew  your  husband,  he  was  a  youth  full  of 
intelligent  appreciation  of  those  ancient  marvels  which 
I  delighted  to  show  him.  Imagine  my  joy,  twelve  years 
later,  to  welcome  him  again,  grown  to  man's  estate,  and 
to  find  that  the  early  seeds  which  I  had  planted  within 
him  had  sent  out  roots  and  tendrils  so  strong  as  to 
hold  him  firmly  in  their  grasp.  Then  he  brought  Miss 
Thayer  to  me — at  first  I  took  her  for  you,  as  she  was 
the  kind  of  woman  I  had  expected  him  to  marry. 
She  entered  into  his  work  with  him  with  the  same  spirit 
as  his  own,  and  my  foolish  old  heart  rejoiced  that  such 
splendid  material  had  been  placed  in  my  hands  for  the 
moulding." 

"  Why  repeat  all  this  ?"  Helen  interrupted ;  "  I  know 
it  all  and  accept  it  all,  but  what  agony  to  pass  through 
it  still  another  time !" 

"  Forgive  me,  my  daughter,"  Cerini  replied,  quickly ; 
[336] 


THE     SPELL 


"  we  are  past  the  period  of  your  sacrifice  now,  and  have 
reached  the  point  of  your  triumph." 

"My  triumph!"  cried  Helen,  bitterly.  "Why  do 
you  hurt  me  so?" 

"  Patience,  dear,"  Uncle  Peabody  urged,  quietly. 
"  Monsignor  Cerini  has  some  purpose  in  mind  which 
makes  this  necessary,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  am  unfortunate  in  my  presentation,"  the  librarian 
apologized.  "  The  point  I  wish  to  make  is  that  up  to 
the  time  I  met  Mrs.  Armstrong  I  had  known  but  one 
kind  of  humanism.  I  myself  had  studied  the  master 
spirits  of  the  past,  and  had  assimilated  the  principles 
which  they  taught.  Mr.  Armstrong  and  Miss  Thayer 
assimilated  their  lessons  in  the  same  way  as  I  had  done ; 
but  we  all  failed  to  recognize  in  this  clear  lady  the  nat 
ural  expression — the  personification — of  all  that  we  our 
selves  had  labored  so  assiduously  to  acquire." 

Both  Helen  and  Uncle  Peabody  were  listening  to  the 
man's  words  with  breathless  attention. 

"  You  mean  that  Mrs,  Armstrong  is  a  natural  hu 
manist?"  Uncle  Peabody  queried. 

"  The  most  perfect  expression  of  all  that  humanism 
contains  which  I  can  ever  hope  to  see,"  Cerini  replied, 
with  feeling.  "  I,  more  than  any  one,  have  prevented 
the  expression  of  these  attributes  which  are  your  nat 
ural  heritage ;  now  let  me  help  to  merge  them  with  your 
husband's  undoubted  talents." 

"  You  cannot  mean  it,"  Helen  said,  weakly,  sobering 
down  after  the  first  exhilaration  of  the  old  man's  words. 
"  I  am  no  humanist,  either  natural  or  otherwise.  Mon 
signor  Cerini  evidently  means  to  give  me  a  new  con 
fidence,  but  it  is  a  mistaken  kindness." 

"  You  must  listen  to  what  he  says,  Helen,"  Uncle 
22  [337] 


THE     SPELL 


Peabody  insisted.  "  I  have  known  Cerini  for  many 
years,  and  he  would  make  no  such  statement  unless  he 
felt  it  to  be  true." 

"  It  is  all  as  unknown  to  me  as  some  foreign  language 
I  have  never  heard  before,"  she  protested.  "  I  know, 
for  I  have  tried  to  understand." 

"  Does  a  bird  have  to  know  the  technique  of  music 
before  it  can  sing?"  asked  Cerini,  quietly. 

"  Oh,  this  is  agony  for  me !"  cried  Helen,  in  despair. 
"  I  can  only  see  in  it  another  opening  of  the  wound,  an- 
other  barb  later  to  be  torn  from  my  heart." 

"  Be  reasonable,  child,"  urged  Uncle  Peabody,  sooth 
ingly.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  instead  of  all  this  Cerini 
has  brought  to  you — to  all  of  us — the  solution  of  our 
problem.  Let  me  ask  him  a  few  questions,  while  you 
control  yourself  and  try  to  understand." 

Helen  acquiesced  silently.  Cerini's  words  had  seemed 
to  give  her  hope,  yet  she  dared  not  allow  herself  to  hope 
again.  Limp  from  exhaustion,  worn  out  by  her  ceaseless 
mental  struggle,  she  had  no  strength  even  to  oppose. 

"  Mrs.  Armstrong  has  taken  her  present  position," 
began  Uncle  Peabody,  "  because  she  feels  absolutely 
that  her  husband's  real  expression  of  himself  is  that 
which  he  has  shown  her  while  under  the  influence  of  this 
spell  which  his  love  of  the  old-time  learning  has  woven 
about  him." 

"  She  is  right,"  replied  the  librarian,  "  except  that 
by  an  unusual  combination  of  circumstances  this  in 
fluence  overpowered  him  by  its  strength,  and  he  should 
not  be  held  wholly  responsible  for  his  abnormal  acts. 
This  is  not  the  first  time  I  have  seen  this  happen.  There 
is  a  peculiar  languor  in  the  atmosphere,  here  in  Florence, 

impregnated  as  it  is  with  the  romance  of  centuries,  which 

[338] 


THE    SPELL 


is  absolutely  intoxicating  to  the  mind,  but  it  is  rarely 
that  it  succeeds  in  making  itself  so  felt  upon  an  Anglo- 
Saxon  temperament.  Mr.  Armstrong  ought  never,  for 
the  sake  of  his  own  individuality,  to  give  up  his  fond 
ness  for  the  literoc  humaniores,  but  it  is  entirely  out  of 
the  question  for  him  ever  again  to  become  so  subject  to 
their  control." 

"  She  'senses  this  quite  as  strongly  as  you  do ;  but 
beyond  this  she  feels  that  he  can  never  retain  the  de 
velopment  which  has  come  to  him  here  except  in  an  at 
mosphere  filled  with  a  comprehension  of  all  which  he 
holds  so  dear." 

"  Mrs.  Armstrong  is  still  in  the  right,"  assented 
Cerini,  gravely ;  "  but  there  is  one  point  which  she  still 
fails  to  understand.  Her  husband's  work  has  been  hu 
manistic,  but  he  himself  is  but  just  ready  to  begin  to  be 
a  humanist.  She  is  the  one  best  fitted  in  every  way  to 
join  him  at  this  point,  and  their  two  personalities,  thus 
united,  can  but  produce  splendid  results." 

"  I  cannot  believe  it,"  Helen  interrupted,  speaking 
with  decision.  "  It  has  been  from  Inez  and  not  from 
me  that  he  has  received  his  inspiration.  Things  are 
no  different  now  from  what  they  have  been:  Inez  is  still 
the  one  to  inspire  him  to  attain  his  best." 

"  You  are  wrong,  dear,"  spoke  a  low  voice  behind 
them,  as  Inez  threw  her  arms  about  Helen  and  embraced 
her  warmly.  "  I  surmised  what  you  were  discussing, 
and  took  this  first  opportunity  to  do  my  part  toward 
straightening  things  out." 

Helen  sat  upright  and  looked  steadily  into  Inez' 
smiling  face,  completely  freed  for  the  first  time  in  many 
weeks  from  its  care-worn  expression. 

"  You — you  could  not  look  like  that  if  you  under- 
[339] 


THE     SPELL 


stood,"  she  stammered,  still  startled  by  her  friend's  sud 
den  appearance. 

"  Mr.  Armstrong  and  I  have  talked  it  all  over,  and  at 
last  I  understand  what  should  have  been  clear  to  me  long 
ago.  You  are  a  dear,  brave  girl,  Helen,  and  deserve 
all  the  happiness  which  is  in  store  for  you." 

"  Happiness — to  me !  Oh,  Inez,"  Helen  cried,  "  why 
do  you  all  mock  me  with  that  word?  There  can  be  no 
happiness  for  me,  and,  unless  I  do  what  I  propose,  it 
means  misery  for  every  one  instead  of  for  me  alone." 

"  No,  dear,"  Inez  replied,  softly,  gently  smoothing 
Helen's  hair  as  she  rested  her  tired  head  upon  her  shout- 
der.  "  No — there  can  be  nothing  but  happiness,  now 
that  all  is  understood." 

"  But  you — you  love  Jack,  Inez." 

The  girl  colored  as  Helen  spoke  thus  freely  in  the 
presence  of  others,  but  her  voice  was  firm  as  she  replied. 

"  Helen,  dear,"  she  said,  "  here  in  the  presence  of 
Mr.  Cartwright  and  Monsignor  Cerini  I  ask  your  per 
mission  to  keep  in  my  heart  the  image  of  the  man  I 
learned  to  love  while  we  both  were  beneath  the  spell. 
That  man  no  longer  exists  in  the  flesh,  but  I  still  wor 
ship  his  memory.  He  can  never  exist  again  except  as 
a  part  of  an  experience  which  could  never  be  repeated. 
Is  this  asking  too  much,  dear?" 

"  What  does  it  all  mean?"  cried  Helen,  gazing  at  her 
helplessly — "  what  does  it  all  mean  ?" 

"  It  means  that  there  have  been  two  Jacks,  Helen — 
one  of  whom  became  transformed  for  a  time  into  a 
veritable  master  -  spirit  of  the  past.  To  this  man,  I 
admit,  I  gave  a  devotion  which  I  shall  never — could 
never — give  to  any  other ;  but  he  died,  Helen,  when  the 
spell  broke  against  that  wall  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  of 

[340] 


THE    SPELL 


Settignano.  This  man,  even  during  his  existence,  gave 
me  no  devotion  in  return,  and  knew  not  the  passion 
which  he  inspired  in  me.  He  had  no  heart,  but  it  was 
not  his  heart  I  worshipped.  To  me  his  mind — broad, 
comprehensive,  and  understanding — stood  for  all  that 
life  could  give.  The  other  Jack — the  man  you  mar 
ried — has  never  wavered  in  the  love  he  gave  you  from 
the  first.  He  has  suffered  from  the  influence  of  the 
second  personality  in  that  he  was  forced  into  the  back 
ground  by  the  greater  strength  of  this  sub-conscious 
self;  but  he  has  also  gained  from  its  influence  in  the 
development  which  we  all  have  seen.  My  Jack  is  dead, 
but  yours  still  lives.  He  needs  you,  and  he  longs  for  the 
return  to  him  of  the  wife  he  has  always  loved." 

Inez  paused  after  her  long  appeal,  eager  to  read  a 
favorable  response  in  the  pale  face  still  gazing  at  her, 
but  no  change  came  over  the  set  features.  Once  or  twice 
Helen  started  to  speak,  but  no  words  came.  Uncle  Pea- 
body  and  Cerini  had  followed  Inez  intently,  realizing 
that  she  was  pleading  the  cause  far  better  than  they 
could.  Affected  by  the  scene  before  them,  they  found 
themselves  unable  to  break  the  silence.  At  last  Helen's 
voice  came  back  to  her. 

"  He  longs  for  the  return  to  him  of  the  wife  he  has 
always  loved?" 

She  repeated  Inez'  words  slowly,  in  the  form  of  a 
question. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  her  friend  replied ;  "  he  is  waiting  for 
you  now." 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no !"  Helen  cried,  brokenly,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands ;  "  it  is  all  a  mistake.  You  are 
all  doing  this  for  my  sake,  and  it  is  not  the  truth — it 
is  not  the  truth !" 

[341] 


THE    SPELL 


"  You  arc  ill,  Helen !"  cried  Inez,  alarmed  by  her  ap 
pearance  as  well  as  by  the  wildness  of  her  words ;  "  come, 
let  me  take  you  to  your  room." 

Unresistingly  Helen  suffered  herself  to  be  led  into  the 
house,  leaving  Uncle  Peabody  and  Cerini  looking  ap 
prehensively  at  each  other. 

"  He  longs — for  the  return  to  him — of  the  wife — he 
has  always  loved,"  Helen  murmured  over  and  over  again, 
as  Inez  and  Annetta  undressed  her  and  gently  put  her 
into  bed.  She  seemed  indifferent  to  what  Inez  said  to 
her,  and  conscious  only  of  the  words  which  she  kept  re 
peating.  Thoroughly  frightened,  Inez  left  her  in  An- 
netta's  care  while  she  rushed  down-stairs  to  summon  the 
doctor. 


XXXII 


FOR  a  few  days  Helen's  condition  was  grave  enough 
to  warrant  the  anxiety  which  pervaded  the  entire 
household.  Dr.  Montgomery  was  again  pressed 
into  service,  and  found  his  skill  taxed  to  the  utmost  to 
meet  the  condition  in  which  he  found  his  new  patient. 

"  This  is  a  great  surprise  to  me,"  he  remarked  to 
Uncle  Peabody,  shaking  his  head  ominously.  "  I  have 
made  it  a  point  to  watch  Mrs.  Armstrong  throughout 
the  shock  and  the  strain  of  her  husband's  accident,  an 
ticipating  that  this  nervous  reaction  might  occur;  but 
the  time  when  it  would  naturally  have  happened  is  now 
long  since  passed." 

Mr.  Cartwright  reluctantly  explained  to  the  doctor 
enough  of  the  facts  to  assist  him  to  a  proper  under 
standing  of  the  case,  and  with  sympathies  fully  enlisted 
his  efforts  were  redoubled.  The  patient  herself  proved 
to  be  his  greatest  obstacle.  Try  as  he  would,  he  could 
not  arouse  in  her  any  interest  in  her  recovery.  She  ac 
cepted  his  services  and  those  of  the  nurse  without  ques 
tion,  but  in  an  apathetic  manner.  Armstrong,  Inez,  and 
Uncle  Peabody  hovered  about  the  sick-chamber,  eagerly 
grasping  such  information  as  the  nurse  and  the  doctor 
were  able  to  give  them,  the  anxious  lines  in  their  faces 
becoming  deeper  as  the  hours  passed  by. 

But  it  was  naturally  upon  Armstrong  that  the  burden 
[343] 


THE     SPELL 


rested  most  heavily.  He  had  been  given  the  fullest  de 
tails  of  the  conference  in  the  garden  which  immediately 
preceded  Helen's  collapse,  and  her  replies  to  Cerini's  ap 
peal  showed  him,  better  even  than  his  last  conversation 
with  her,  how  seriously  she  had  been  affected.  For  this 
he  alone  was  responsible,  and  he  was  equally  responsible 
for  the  illness  which  came  as  a  final  result  of  it  all.  He 
had  hoped  that  when  Cerini  awakened  her  to  a  knowl 
edge  of  her  own  splendid  development  she  would  accept 
his  plea  that  they  take  up  their  new  life  together,  but 
this  expectation  had  been  in  vain. 

"  It  has  come  too  late,"  he  said,  bitterly,  to  Uncle 
Peabody.  "  We  can  only  imagine  the  tortures  through 
which  the  poor  girl  has  passed  by  the  severity  of  this 
reaction.  She  has  been  forcing  herself  to  make  this  su 
preme  sacrifice,  which  she  believes  is  necessary,  and  has 
succeeded  at  last  in  destroying  that  love  which  I  know 
she  felt  for  me  even  through  the  worst  of  the  crisis." 

"  She  loves  you  still,  Jack,"  replied  Uncle  Peabody, 
whose  complete  sympathy  had  been  won  by  Armstrong's 
attitude  during  the  trying  days  they  were  passing 
through  together.  "  It  is  this  which  has  made  it  so 
hard  for  her." 

"  It  is  only  your  ever-present  optimism,"  the  younger 
man  replied,  sadly.  "  Now  that  I  see  myself  as  I  have 
really  been  during  these  past  weeks,  I  cannot  share  it 
with  you,  much  as  I  wish  I  could.  If  I,  having  actually 
experienced  this  spell  and  knowing  its  force,  find  it  so 
impossible  to  explain  to  myself  this  long  scries  of  inex 
plicable  events,  how  can  I  expect  anything  other  than 
this  generous  but  unfortunate  conviction  that  her  self- 
sacrifice  is  necessary?" 

His  face  contracted  as  he  spoke,  and  the  veins  upon 
[344] 


THE    SPELL 


his  forehead  stood  out  boldly  against  the  fair  skin,  still 
colorless  from  his  prolonged  illness. 

"  And  the  worst  of  it  all  is  that  I  can  make  no  sacrifice 
which  can  possibly  accomplish  anything,"  he  continued. 
"  She — she  must  suffer  on  indefinitely  for  my  selfishness, 
for  my  neglect." 

"  Let  me  speak  to  her  just  once  more,"  Inez  pleaded, 
in  real  pity  for  the  man  beside  her.  "  When  she  is 
strong  enough,  perhaps  I  can  make  her  understand." 

"  No,"  he  replied,  firmly,  yet  showing  his  apprecia 
tion  of  her  thought  for  him,  "  she  has  endured  enough 
already.  The  very  mention  of  her  husband  can  only 
revive  unhappy  memories.  She  shall  at  least  be  spared 
any  further  pleading  on  my  behalf." 

At  last  the  doctor  pronounced  the  danger  -  point 
passed,  and  the  relief  which  the  announcement  brought 
gave  Armstrong  the  necessary  strength  to  enable  him 
to  take  upon  himself  the  details  of  packing  and  closing 
up  the  house,  and  getting  everything  in  readiness  to 
leave  for  home  as  soon  as  Helen  should  be  strong  enough 
to  travel. 

"  The  place  has  been  hateful  to  her  all  these  weeks," 
he  explained,  "  and  she  must  be  freed  from  every  scene 
which  suggests  what  has  passed." 

As  he  went  from  one  part  of  the  villa  to  another,  he 
was  constantly  reminded  with  painful  forcefulness  of  the 
days  which  they  had  first  enjoyed  there  together.  The 
flowers  in  the  garden,  the  singing  of  the  birds  in  the 
trees,  the  distant  view  of  the  city — each  possessed  a  per 
sonal  significance.  "  I  love  the  present,"  she  had  said 
to  him — "  I  love  the  sky,  the  air,  the  sunshine,  and  the 
flowers." 

Happy,  buoyant  nature — the  natural  humanist !  She 
[345] 


THE    SPELL 


assimilated  all  that  was  best  in  life,  and  had  he  given  her 
the  opportunity  would  have  breathed  it  out  again  to 
those  around  her  richer  and  more  inspiring  because  of 
its  contact  with  her  own  rare  self!  Fool  that  he  had 
been !  With  the  riches  of  the  past  lying  at  his  hand  to 
be  drawn  upon  for  material,  he  had  selfishly  insisted 
that  his  own  methods  of  using  them  were  the  only  ones, 
recognizing  too  late  the  inspiration  and  the  real  assist 
ance  which  she  was  amply  able  to  give  him  in  trans 
forming  these  riches  into  even  purer  gold  by  the  magic 
touch  of  the  present.  Armstrong  groaned  as  the  irony 
of  it  came  to  him. 

Helen  recovered  slowly,  and  with  a  sweetness  which 
touched  the  hearts  of  all  about  her.  Inez  and  Uncle 
Peabody  were  with  her  much  of  the  time,  but  Armstrong, 
true  to  his  conviction  that  he  had  become  distasteful  to 
her,  waited  to  be  asked  for ;  and  Helen  did  not  ask.  The 
only  event  which  happened  to  interrupt  the  even  tenor 
of  the  days  was  a  call  from  the  Contessa  Morelli,  who 
was  solicitous  for  her  condition. 

"  Make  some  excuse,"  Helen  said,  quietly,  to  Inez, 
who  announced  the  visitor.  "  Don't  say  anything  to 
hurt  her  feelings,  but  I  really  can't  see  her.  She  does 
not  understand  the  life  I  know  and  love,  and  I  don't 
want  to  understand  hers." 

So  it  was  Jack  whom  the  contessa  met  as  she  took  her 
departure. 

"  I  am  so  relieved  to  know  that  your  wife  is  in  no 
danger,"  she  said,  sympathetically. 

"  So  are  we  all,"  Armstrong  replied,  in  a  perfunctory 
way,  still  feeling  ill  at  ease  in  the  contessa's  presence. 
"  This  villa  will  soon  be  considered  as  a  hospital  if  any 

more  of  us  become  invalids." 

[346] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Miss  Thayer  is  not  ill?"  inquired  the  contessa,  smil 
ing  archly. 

"  She  is  quite  well,  I  believe,"  he  replied,  coldly,  but 
with  an  effort  to  be  civil. 

"  How  fortunate !"  Amelie  continued.  "  With  Mrs. 
Armstrong  in  no  danger  and  Miss  Thayer  in  good  health, 
you  will  soon,  no  doubt,  resume  your  charming  tete-a- 
tetes  at  the  library?" 

The  contessa  was  endeavoring  to  be  mischievous,  but 
Armstrong  was  in  no  mood  for  her  pleasantries.  He 
resented  the  words  no  less  than  the  expression  upon  her 
face.  Yet  he  himself  was  partially  responsible,  and  this 
thought  kept  back  the  words  upon  his  lips  which  if  spoken 
would  have  been  regretted.  He  looked  intently  into  her 
face  before  he  answered,  and  the  contessa's  smile  faded. 

"  Instead  of  replying  to  your  question,"  Armstrong 
said,  quietly,  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  her,  "  may  I 
not  ask  you  a  favor?" 

"  Surely  you  may  ask  it,"  she  replied ;  "  but  that  does 
not  mean  that  I  must  grant  it,  does  it?" 

"  You  need  not  grant  it  unless  you  choose,"  pursued 
Armstrong ;  "  but  at  least  I  shall  have  the  satisfaction 
of  asking  it :  will  you  not  add  one  more  class  into  which 
you  separate  the  men  you  meet?" 

The  contessa  laughed  merrily.  "  What  a  curious  re 
quest  to  be  made  so  seriously !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Of 
whom  shall  the  new  class  be  composed?" 

"  Of  those  men  who  are  husbands  and  who  love  their 
wives,"  Armstrong  replied,  feelingly ;  "  who  despise  in 
trigue  and  disloyalty  and  hypocrisy  in  either  sex;  who 
consider  honor  and  life  as  synonyms ;  and  who,  even  for 
the  sake  of  civility,  cannot  allow  misinterpretations  to 
cast  a  shadow  upon  the  sanctity  of  marriage." 

[347] 


THE    SPELL 


"  Mon  Dieu!"  cried  the  contessa,  making  a  pretty 
moue  as  she  rose  and  moved  toward  the  veranda ;  "  and 
I  thought  he  had  no  temperament !  Shall  I  put  you 
in  this  exotic  class  ?  Oh  no ;  you  would  be  so  lonesome !" 

"  I  could  not  expect  you  to  understand,"  Armstrong 
replied,  in  a  low  tone,  biting  his  lip  with  vexation. 

Amelie  watched  his  expression  intently,  a  complete 
change  coming  over  her  manner.  The  flippant  bearing 
was  gone ;  the  smile,  aggravating  as  it  Avas  attractive, 
vanished.  She  took  a  step  toward  him  as  she  spoke. 

"  But  I  do  understand,"  she  said,  slowly,  in  a  low, 
tense  voice.  "  Perhaps  I  ought  to  feel  shamed  by  your 
contempt  and  indignant  at  your  criticism.  On  the  con 
trary,  I  am  glad  that  I  incurred  both,  for  by  it  I  have 
learned  that  a  man  can  be  honest,  and  that  appearances 
are  not  always  the  safest  guides.  What  you  have  said 
is  what  a  woman  understands  by  instinct;  anything 
different  is  what  she  learns — from  men.  Will  you  for 
give  me?  I  shall  not  offend  again." 

His  surprise  at  this  new  and  unexpected  view  of  the 
contessa's  character  was  so  great  that  it  was  only  in 
stinctively  that  he  pressed  the  dainty  hand  which  was 
held  out  to  him.  For  a  moment  their  eyes  met. 

"  I  wish  that  you  and  your  wife  might  both  have  come 
into  my  life  earlier,"  she  said,  simply,  and  then  turned 
quickly  to  the  door  and  was  in  the  tonncau  of  her  motor 
car  before  Armstrong  could  offer  to  assist  her.  So,  as 
the  machine  moved  away,  he  stood  on  the  veranda,  bow 
ing  his  acknowledgment  of  her  radiant  smile  into  which 
a  new  element  had  entered. 

Then  Armstrong  turned  back  into  the  hallway,  where 
he  met  the  doctor  and  Uncle  Peabody  coming  down  the 
stairs. 

[348] 


THE     SPELL 


"  Has  she  asked  for  me  yet?"  he  inquired,  eagerly. 

"  Not  yet,"  Dr.  Montgomery  answered,  with  that  un 
derstanding  which  is  a  part  of  the  physician's  profession. 
Armstrong  turned  away  to  conceal  his  face,  which  he 
felt  must  show  all  that  was  passing  through  his  heart. 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  to  her,  anyway,"  the  doctor 
continued. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  suggesting,  doctor — 
I  want  to  do  it  so  much — but  I  must  not." 

"  It  will  be  necessary  to  talk  with  her  soon  about  our 
future  plans,  Jack,"  Uncle  Pcabody  said,  seeing  a  way 
to  accomplish  their  purpose.  "  Dr.  Montgomery  says 
that  Helen  is  strong  enough  now  to  discuss  the  matter." 

Armstrong  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  uncer 
tainty.  "  You  are  right,"  he  said,  at  length.  "  She 
must  be  consulted  about  that,  and  I  am  the  one  to  do  it." 

He  chose  the  morning  for  his  visit  to  her — a  morning 
filled  with  the  sunshine  she  loved  so  well.  He  plucked 
a  handful  of  the  fragrant  blossoms  from  the  garden, 
hoping  that  the  odor  might  recall  to  her  some  of  the 
happy  moments  they  had  experienced  together.  The 
very  perfume  rising  from  the  redolent  petals  seemed  to 
accuse  him  as  he  stood  before  her  door  awaiting  the 
nurse's  response  to  his  knock. 

"  May  I  come  in?"  he  asked,  looking  across  the  room 
to  the  bed  where  Helen  lay  propped  up  with  pillows, 
so  that  she  could  look  out  of  the  window  into  the  garden, 
even  though  the  tops  of  the  trees  alone  rewarded  her  gaze. 

"  Of  course,"  Helen  weakly  replied,  yet  with  a  smile, 
and  the  nurse  discreetly  left  them  to  themselves. 

Armstrong  seated  himself  on  a  chair  near  the  bed  and 
gazed  in  silence  at  the  thin,  pale  features  of  the  woman 
before  him.  This  was  the  wreck  of  the  beautiful  girl 

[349] 


THE    SPELL 


he  had  married  and  brought  here  to  Florence  for  her 
honeymoon.  What  a  honeymoon ! 

"  I  am  glad  you  came  to  me  at  last,"  Helen  said, 
quietly,  interrupting  his  convicting  thoughts. 

"  At  last !"  The  words  brought  him  to  himself. 
Mastering  his  emotion  as  best  he  could,  he  took  her 
thin  hand  in  his,  and  the  fact  that  she  did  not  with 
draw  it  gave  him  courage. 

"  I  have  longed  to  come  to  you  each  day,  but  you 
asked  me  not  to  make  it  harder  for  you." 

"  I  am  glad  you  came  to  me  at  last,"  she  repeated. 

How  should  he  begin?  The  sentences  he  had  thought 
out  carefully,  which  might  convey  his  necessary  mes 
sage  and  yet  spare  her,  seemed  too  cold,  too  meaning 
less.  He  glanced  up  at  her  helplessly,  and  the  expression 
on  her  face  helped  him  to  his  purpose.  Impulsively 
drawing  his  chair  still  nearer  to  the  bed,  he  poured  out 
to  her  the  self-incriminations  which  had  haunted  him  for 
days.  In  a  torrent  of  pitiless  words  he  pictured  himself 
without  mercy.  There  was  no  plea  for  reconsideration, 
no  thought  of  future  readjustment.  The  one  idea  was 
to  let  her  know  how  fully  he  realized  all  that  had  hap 
pened,  how  powerless  he  felt  himself  to  make  restitution, 
and  his  determination  to  do  what  now  remained  to  make 
her  future  as  little  overcast  as  possible  by  the  events 
which  had  already  taken  place. 

"  I  would  not  have  come  now  except  that  it  is  neces 
sary,"  he  said,  brokenly.  "  I  know  that  to  see  me  must 
recall  unhappy  recollections,  but  there  are  some  matters 
which  we  must  talk  over  together.  I  have  not  come  to 
plead  for  any  reconsideration — you  were  right  in  what 
you  said  the  last  time  we  talked  about  it,  as  you  have 
been  in  all  else.  Our  marriage  was  a  mistake,  and  it  is 

[350] 


THE    SPELL 


I  who  have  made  it  so.  I  no  longer  ask  that  we  try 
to  restore  matters  to  their  former  position.  The  only 
sacrifice  within  my  power  is  to  give  you  a  chance  to  re 
cover  as  much  as  you  can  of  what  I  have  made  you  lose. 
The  penalty  is  hard,  but  well  deserved." 

He  did  not  look  into  her  face  as  he  spoke,  lest  he  lose 
his  courage  before  all  was  said.  "  Cerini  has  told  you 
what  you  have  taught  us  both,  which  is  another  debt 
I  owe  you.  It  should  be  some  little  consolation,  dear, 
to  know  that  your  expression  and  your  understanding 
have  been  so  much  clearer  than  those  of  this  librarian, 
whom  I  have  considered  infallible;  than  those  of  your 
husband,  whom  in  the  past  I  know  you  have  respected  and 
loved.  Thank  God  for  that  love!"  he  repeated,  abruptlv- 

"  Then  it  is  really  true  that  my  '  dear  present '  is 
worth  something,  after  all?" 

"  Your  '  dear  present '  is  the  saving  clause.  Without 
it  we  limit  ourselves  beyond  the  hope  of  recovery,  just 
as  I  have  done.  The  glories  of  the  past  are  as  splendid 
and  as  important  as  I  ever  painted  them,  but  they  must 
be  awakened  with  the  breath  of  present  necessities.  You 
have  always  felt  this  and  expressed  it;  I  have  known  it 
only  since  you  taught  it  to  me." 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  answered,  simply. 

"  But  I  am  forgetting  my  errand,"  Armstrong  con 
tinued,  bracing  himself  for  a  final  effort.  "  As  soon  as 
you  are  able  to  travel  you  will,  of  course,  wish  to  return 
home.  It  may  be  that,  for  the  sake  of  appearances,  you 
will  wish  me  to  go  with  you,  in  which  case  I  shall  make  it 
as  easy  as  possible  for  you.  Or  you  can  return  with  Un 
cle  Peabody ,  as  he  tells  me  you  once  spoke  to  him  of  doing. 
He  is  eager  to  do  anything  you  wish,  but  he  has  plans 
which  need  to  be  arranged  after  you  have  once  decided." 

[3511 


THE    SPELL 


Helen's  gaze  rested  firmly  upon  her  husband's  half- 
averted  face, watching  the  changing  expressions,  reading 
the  unspoken  words.  "  He  longs  for  the  return  to  him 
of  the  wife  he  has  always  loved  "  rang  in  her  ears,  and 
now  for  the  first  time  it  seemed  to  ring  true.  Her  mind 
was  moving  fast  as  Armstrong  ceased  speaking,  and  even 
when  she  replied,  a  moment  later,  it  was  not  an  answer. 

"  What  is  Inez  going  to  do?"  she  inquired. 

"  As  soon  as  we  close  the  villa  she  will  go  to  the  pen 
sion  where  the  Sinclair  girls  were." 

"  She  will  stay  in  Florence?"  Helen  asked,  surprised. 

"  Yes ;  she  has  arranged  with  Cerini  to  work  with  him 
upon  his  Humanistic  Studies" 

Helen  withdrew  her  hand  from  his  as  she  leaned  back 
upon  the  pillow  and  closed  her  eyes.  Armstrong  re 
garded  her  anxiously,  fearful  lest  their  interview  had 
been  too  great  a  strain  upon  her  returning  strength; 
but  as  he  looked  her  eyes  opened  again. 

"  You  must  know  at  once  whether  I  prefer  to  return 
home  with  you  or  with  Uncle  Peabody?"  she  asked, 
faintly. 

"  Not  at  once,"  he  replied,  leaning  nearer  to  catch  the 
low-spoken  words — "  not  until  you  are  strong  enough  to 
decide." 

Suddenly  he  felt  both  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  in 
his  ear  she  whispered,  "  Let  me  go  with  you,  Jack ;  but 
not  to  Boston — take  me  to  Fiesole!" 


THE    END 


A     Onn          """"""iN/il/il 


